


this living hand

by clarineta



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, F/M, Minor Monty Green/Nathan Miller, Past Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Slow Burn Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 10:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5740633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarineta/pseuds/clarineta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a tumultuous relationship and a pretty traumatic breakup, Clarke goes on a trip to Europe with her best friends. But her ghosts follow her, and she's gonna need to sort through the last few years of her life if she really wants to move on and open herself to someone who can really make her happy. Past and present intercut as the group makes their way from Portugal to Italy, and Clarke thinks her way from freshman through senior year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this living hand

_(if you’re in love then you are the lucky one_

_'cause most of us are bitter over someone_

_setting fire to our insides for fun)_

 

* * *

 

 

The trip had been Monty's idea, at the end of junior year. After 4 years of blood, sweat, tears, and sacrifice, they would all deserve a little break before, well, the blood, sweat, etc of their adult lives waiting for them. "Sounds less like a reward and more like just delaying the inevitable, there, Monty."

"Why can't it be both?" Really, she couldn't come up with a good reason. The year that followed proved that she wasn't really that excited for adulthood, either. So here she was, her head pounding, throat dry, wanting to murder the morning sun outside. Her first European hangover. The romance of youth.

Last night they had ended up at a stranger’s apartment, after Raven spent the night flirting with said stranger’s… friend, Clarke thought. Or a friend of his friend. They were at a bar drinking Portuguese wine and he had invited Raven but she didn’t wanna go alone. Bellamy heard her asking Clarke and then everyone ended up going. Bellamy had been bothering her about being too quiet.

 _“_ You're uncharacteristically quiet tonight. Is Porto wine the secret to your silence? Because this shit is expensive as fuck but I will buy a dozen barrels.”

“Is shutting me up really the only way you can imagine ever winning against me, Bellamy? Why don't you try, I don't know, being right for once?”

“I always do that, and it’s never worked because you can’t accept defeat.”

He kept eyeing her suspiciously, with that Bellamy _I know all of your expressions let me check if this really isn’t serious_ look. Then Raven came around talking about the party. Bellamy had butted in accepting the invitation for everyone. Clarke had tried to tell everyone that going to a stranger’s house was a bad idea, but Monty had talked to her with his stupid Monty face. “Isn’t this what a trip through Europe is supposed to be like? Meeting new people, broadening our horizons by doing things like accepting invitations from strangers to drink over at their places?”

“We do that in D.C.,” she’d argued.

“Exactly, but Clarke: we are in Portugal. Life is awesome. Come on.”

The night had of course ended with Bellamy dragging Clarke out as she tried to fight some Portuguese version of a frat boy for cheating at poker. Bellamy claimed that he was winning, and he knew the guy was cheating but wanted to rub it in his face as he won anyway, so now Clarke owed him money. She refused to pay. As far as she was concerned, the game was completely null if someone cheated, and besides, she hadn’t made him lose any money, they had never finished playing so he hadn’t won anything. Checkmate, Blake.

Raven had gotten back to their room this morning, with a hangover, rambling something about hating her own feelings and trying to wake up Monty to ask about him and Nathan.

“What about him and Nathan?” Clarke asked after downing a couple of aspirins. Raven had just rolled her eyes at her while Monty pretended to fall back asleep. Well, okay then. She was up early, hangover and all, because Bellamy wanted to take her around the neighborhood and check out some places.

“Try to not let him talk too much.” Raven had said from under her pillow.

“Yeah, right,” Clarke thought.

I

Clarke was fuming as she walked the halls of the Ancient History department looking for professor Wallace's office. It was just before Thanksgiving, everything was wet, Finn refused to leave her alone, she wished she had hooked up with his girlfriend instead, if she had to have made a huge mistake, and her paper on the foundation of the Roman Empire and its relationship with modern day democracy had gotten a B. No, a B minus. She couldn't even think about it. That was obviously some mistake by the stupid TA. She knocked on Wallace's door with all the determination of an A student. Which she was.

“Not office hours," a voice responded from inside.

"Oh, fucking wonderful," she thought, before testing the knob to see if the door was locked. Well, it wasn't, so that was his second mistake, as far as she knew. Actually, probably mistake ten thousand and thirteen. She stepped inside to see him there, holding a highlighter, about 400 books opened in front of him, notes and post-its everywhere. The place was a mess.

Bellamy Bonehead Blake looked up at her with a look of outrage, like he was about to talk her off for walking in like that, but his eyes turned immediately mischievous when he saw who it was. She crossed her arms.

"Well, sorry to interrupt what is obviously a very carefully structured process here, but I need to talk to Professor Wallace."

"And do you see him anywhere here, sweetheart?"

"Maybe he's suffocating under a pile of books, cupcake."

"Hey, I'm pretty sure I'm the authority in the room, and if I'm not mistaken, and I never am, college freshmen should really respect authority."

"And I'm pretty sure calling college freshmen 'sweetheart' is grounds for a formal complaint."

"Didn't mean to offend, swee-. Miss. Still, Wallace is not here. Listen to the message of the pile of disorganized books. Come back another time."

"Actually, it's better to discuss this directly with you, since it's definitely your fault."

He smirked. Well, smirked harder. His face was permanently a smirk in her eyes, unless he was giving a lecture, but the annoyances of lecture-mode TA Blake were too infinite to get into.

"And I would love to tear that idea down to shreds, trust me, but like I said, not office hours. The office hours are all on that paper you ignored, right on the door you opened without being asked in."

"Hey, it was unlocked."

"Yeah, I realize my mistake now."

"Oh, great, so, let me take the opportunity of you admitting mistakes to ask, why did you give me a B minus on my paper?"

He didn't look up from typing something on his tablet. "If I gambled I would bet that I did it because it was worth a C and I am incredibly generous."

Clarke took a deep breath after rolling her eyes. Okay, she had to calm down. Tearing the guy who graded her a new one wouldn't bring her freshman year GPA back to life. Blake liked debating, so she would just show him she was better at it than him. But politely.

"You still here, princess?"

"Excuse me, princess? Are you here from Game of Thrones?”

"Hm, maybe if you tried watching some real historical portrayals of universes that don't have dragons in them you could have gotten a B plus."

"This is an A paper. I have 11 references when the minimum was 8, and my argumentation is solid. I backed up every claim with quotations taken straight out of the recommended reading. Which I did, by the way."

Sighing and looking at her like he could kill her on the spot, Bellamy gestured for her to hand him her wronged paper. She stepped forward into his mess and gave it to him. He glanced at it for five seconds. "Like I said. A generously graded C paper."

"What? You didn't even leave any notes. No comments, no marks."

"It wasn't interesting enough to warrant the trouble."

"Are you serious? You're not gonna explain to me why a B minus? So I can improve?"

"You won't improve. Why waste my time?"

"I'm sorry, how old are you?"

"Why does that matter?"

"Because, I'd like to know how someone who honestly looks barely past 21 can have so much say about 40% of my grade."

"Look, Miss, Griffin, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

He looked at her paper again with a feigned expression of having just realized something completely shocking that made her wanna hit his head with the bust near the door. She could just hear it before he even looked back at her, his face half smirk half "realization."

"Is that Griffin like the Griffin Science Library, and Doctor Griffin, chief of surgery at the school hospital? Just checking the spelling."

"You can read how it's spelled."

"I don't know, could be a typo." He full on grinned at her at that one. She couldn't believe this guy fucking existed.

"Sorry, are you telling me you purposefully gave my paper a lower grade because you've heard my family name somewhere?"

"Don't be so shy, Griffin. The chief of surgery is your mother. She's married to Marcus Kane, Dean of Admissions."

"Do you look all your students up on genealogy dot com or am I special?"

"Special?" He turned the the paper to her. "B minuses are not very special."

Clarke had never pictured herself pulling someone's head from their body before that moment. Not even Finn. Not even fucking Marcus Kane. She thought she knew rage, but she knew nothing before that very moment. "I'm sorry, really sorry that you resent me for whatever reasons, I mean, you are clearly very underprivileged, a graduate student in your early twenties at George Washington University, a TA for one of the foremost experts in this area..."

"An expert that leaves me in charge of grading literally all of your papers and exams, and also passes his lectures onto me."

"Yeah, sounds like a sob story. But my family history has absolutely nothing to do with why I'm here..."

"Absolutely nothing? Dean of admissions?"

"AND all I want is a legitimate explanation as to why you graded my paper the way you did, preferably one that does not involve who gave birth to me."

Bellamy stared at her for a beat. She was trying to show steely resolve, but just hearing all those names made her feel like a coward for not going far far away like she wanted to. She rarely saw her mother these days, and Abby had not wanted Clarke at GWU in the first place, but this was on her, falling for her mother's guilt trip and staying in D.C.. She would not cry, not here, not now, not never, but if she could only kill stupid Blake. Who did he think he fucking was? What did he know about h-

"Your paper is very well-written. You're right, your references are great and your use of support quotations is spot-on."

"But?"

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Are you interested in this subject at all?"

"Well, I'm taking it, so I'd say yes."

"You'd say you are a freshman and you have to take this class so you can take a bunch of others you need for your major. And believe me, that is fine. But your writing has no passion."

"Excuse me? It's a paper, not a political manifesto."

"Yeah, it's a boring paper."

"You gave me a B minus because I bored you?"

"In part, yes. It was also because your disinterest was very clear. Look, I appreciated you trying to present a new point of view, but you didn't care enough to really make your point. I would have loved a fresh perspective. This is stale. It reads like a paper by someone who never had to work that hard for anything. Smartest in her class all through school, praise, no competition for that Valedictorian spot, just going through the motions of what makes a good academic paper without showing me any of yourself in your writing.It's unconvincing."

"Do you always grade papers based on you psychology 101 impressions?"

"Didn't take psychology, prin- Miss Griffin. Your paper reads like you are so sure you are right about your thesis that you don't need to engage with the reader, make them see things from your point of view. You assume there is no other possible point of view. It's entitled."

Clarke could only stare at him, momentarily stunned into silence.

"Look, you are partially kind of right, I guess, sort of, I mean, I can probably leave you some notes to improve-"

"You know what? Thank you, but you already answered my question and I can do fine without your help."

"Really? Because after winter break, I'm still gonna be grading you."

"I know. That's why it's going to be so sweet when you are forced to give me an A, and have no choice but admitting that I do not need your 'passion'. You can keep that paper for the wall of mistakes I'm sure you have in your bedroom."

She threw him her best defiant look before turning on her heels and leaving. She could have sworn that, before turning, just before, his smirk had somehow gotten bigger.

_*_

 

 

They had ended up at a small but traditional neighborhood bakery. Bellamy was such a nerd that he ended up talking to the owner's wife. Her English was appalling, but Bellamy's weak Portuguese helped making the conversation understandable. She had a lot of interesting stories and the Santa Clara pastries Bellamy had talked about were indeed delicious. Clarke and Bellamy said their goodbyes – something the woman said in Portuguese had Bellamy smiling and shaking his head, but he told Clarke it was just a joke she wouldn’t understand, which she didn't buy, but let slide in favor of just walking with him around town. They would leave Porto in the evening, get to Lisbon and head straight to the airport for their flight to Madrid. These were their last few hours here and she was glad to spend them with just him, as he pointed to houses that looked interesting to him and talked about things he wished they had the time and the money to do.

"You're still too quiet, Clarke."

"Maybe I just like listening to your voice.” He laughed. "What, are you the only one allowed to love the sound of your voice?"

"Love, uh?" he said, giving her an eyebrow raise and an infuriatingly full of himself grin. "Your words betray you, princess."

"It was a rhetorical tool. Thought you would be proud."

"I am, very. I take full responsibility for all of your past and future successes."

"You're hilarious."

"I know."

"Yeah, you do."

They both laughed now, Clarke feeling light on her feet, her hungover forgotten after some strong breakfast. She looked at him, just with a side eye, not wanting to stare but still feeling the need to more than just know he was there beside her, the need to stare at his so easily tanned skin and the freckles popping out each day more and the way his relaxed face and smile made him look so much younger and like someone who went through so much les-

"And now she stares."

"I wasn't staring."

"Uh-huh."

"I was observing. You look better."

"Ouch. So I looked like crap before?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Oh, so I looked good before and now I'm pretty much irresistible?"

"Oh my God." She shook her head. "You seem de-stressed. I'm just happy you relaxed. Not because you were intolerable before. Because out of all of us, you really deserve a break."

"I wouldn't say I'm de-stressed. I'm pretty sure that the last time I called home Octavia had Lincoln over."

"Outrageous. Your 20 year old sister had her boyfriend over? What is the world coming to."

"Her older boyfriend. Eleven years older."

"It is pretty weird."

"They're very different and their life experiences aren’t even remotely alike. What do they have in common? What do they talk about?"

"Do you want me to answer that honestly, or like I'm your friend?"

"Don't answer at all."

She laughed quietly to herself and bit her lip. "Sometimes, a few times but sometimes, that kind of age difference works. She’s legal anyway, not much you can do. At least it's not her band of agitators, right? No risk of anyone getting arrested this time."

"Yeah, you wouldn't be there to call in a favor with a senator you just happen to know this time around."

"My mom just happens to know him. My mom and her husband are friends with the Jahas."

"Sorry, I know the importance of the distinction. It was hard learned, but learned. I do learn."

"Do you?"

"You just don't realize it because I have so very little to learn at this point that it's rare."

"Right. Right."

They walked in silence for a while, with matching grins on their faces, just taking in the city air and each other's company.

"What about you?"

"What about me?" Clarke asked.

"No offense to your looks intended, believe me, but you don't seem de-stressed at all."

"Well, I am. Maybe you don't know me that well."

He left out a loud laughter at that, getting other people to give them strange looks. "Yeah, sure, that could be it."

"Look, why is everyone expecting me to use this trip to relax when I've said that is not what I want?"

"Yeah, you came to Europe for punishment."

"No, I came to spend some long time coming quality weeks with my best friends. And also to reflect. Think."

"You do enough thinking in America, Clarke."

They had reached the shore, and sat down at the low stone wall, staring at the boats and the sea. The wind kept blowing Clarke's hair over her face, and she looked over to see Bellamy's curls were now just a bigger mess on his head. She laughed.

"What are you laughing at, hair face?"

She laughed harder. He bumped her shoulder with his and she attacked back. Now it was his turn to stare at her curiously. She kept her own stare straight ahead, purposefully avoiding him and his goddamn analysis of her mental state, till the sheer force of his eyes was so strong she could no longer fake passivity and spat out a "what?!", still not returning the look.

"You did the right thing."

"Yeah, because you are the number one expert in giving up on people."

He laughed. "No, I'm not. But you have always been the strong one."

She finally looked back at him. "That's not true."

"I mean, yeah, in a way. You are strong in a way I could never be."

"Haven't felt like that in ages."

"But you will."

"Please don't say I just need to talk about it."

"Hey, talk, don't talk, that was never your thing anyway. You'll still get yourself back."

"How do you know?"

He sighed, looked from her to a boat where some workers went ahead with their days, staying like that for an infuriatingly long time before turning back to her, grinning with his eyes as he said, "Because what you are looking for has been within you all along." That got him an arm punch.

"You know, if I had to bet I would say your sister is having morning sex with her boyf-"

"Not proportional, Griffin."

"You get what you give, _Blake_."

"Yeah. Yeah. Time to go back and meet our friends." He stood up and dusted himself off of any leftover sand.

"Hey, Bellamy!"

"Oh, what now?"

"What did the bakery woman really say when we were leaving?"

He looked down, smiling, looked back at her with that chin dimple at full force, turning his back so he wouldn't be facing her as he answered:

"She said my girlfriend was very pretty."

The train ride was quiet. She was supposed to sit with Monty, but as they were settling in Bellamy took the seat beside her. Well, her seat, the window. She looked at where Bellamy was supposed to be seated and saw Monty and Nathan laughing at something together. Bellamy raised an eyebrow at her when she looked back at him, but whatever, maybe sometimes she was not the quickest at reading the intricacies of human relationships. Since when is seeing the bigger picture a crime? Still, Bellamy claimed the window seat was his by right because she was too slow, both to see the obvious and to sit.

She had her book with her, but like every other time since they'd left, she could not pay any attention to it. Yeah, between her and herself, she could admit that things were not going very well. This wasn't what she wanted. Her instinct had been to hide, run away, get a new identity, get a guy, like Saul Goodman's guy, they were probably real, right? A new name, red hair, a new life far away, a job as a waitress in a diner. Perfect Americana. She would go to Wyoming, because there wasn't anyone there, and no one would look for her. She would call herself Esther something. At night she would put on headphones and listen to "No Children" on repeat till her head burned red, then eventually it wouldn't hurt, and her friends would have given up on trying to save her and.

She looked to her side. Bellamy had the little plastic table down, writing down on his diary. Sorry, his annotations. He had his shoulders covering it, writing with his hand all twisted. His handwriting was still beautiful, though, she knew. Hers was nonsense. She could only see a small part of his face, his nose, his eyelashes, curls and arms and bad posture hiding the rest. Suddenly Clarke wished she'd taken her sketch pad out of the bag, instead of the book. She wanted to commit this to memory somehow. For some reason.

"What is it with you and staring?"

"What is it with you and ruining quiet moments?"

"Well, rise to the occasion sometime. Be the bigger person and bring the quiet back."

"Like I would ever hear the end of it."

"Boring book?"

"Wouldn't know. Any cute boys flirted with you today?" she asked, pointing to his notebook.

"Wow. This from a so-called progressive woman."

"Hey, you can keep a diary and flirt with cute boys. I wouldn't judge."

"Very recent history shows you wouldn't notice," he remarked with pointed eyebrows.

"It's not that I didn't notice! I just didn't... I'm bad at this and you know it. If I can't notice when someone is into me, how am I gonna know when it's two other people?"

"I can't argue with that."

She grinned, victorious, even though, technically, the point he conceded was that she had been wrong. Still a concession. As she looked ahead, he still stared at her, for a beat longer, she thought. After another moment she looked back to check, but he was at the notebook again, pencil still, not writing anything. She rested her read against the seat and tried to see if sleep would come.

II

Clarke was at the employee's back room, on her break, eating a tuna sandwich and making some doodles on her sketchbook. They were all little stories involving customers she'd seen that day at the store. After the first term in college, she'd decided she really needed cash, because having weekly dinners with Abby and Marcus was just not worthy it. The chain bookstore near campus had been her first choice, and she'd gotten the job. It was pretty annoying and customers were the worst, but she was making her own money and, for as little as it was, she felt proud of herself.

The door opened and she looked up. Great. The real downside of this new job. Turns out Bellamy Blake, the you have no passion in your writing and I'm a cliché TA, also worked here, in the children's department. Clarke was in nonfiction and they wouldn't have to deal with each other a lot in normal circumstances, but she had soon found out he had created a reality show-esque scheme, with the employees divided in factions that fought each other to be the most productive, sell more, receive the most compliments from customers etc. He had come up with the idea, proposing to their manager that it would stimulate healthy competition and increase productivity, and it had worked so well after the trial period that it had stuck. Now each group had a name and this understated rivalry went on between everyone, which most people didn't really take that seriously. After a month here, though, Clarke was buried deep in it and just wanted to crush Bellamy's little gang, who won this every month because, according to the girl from Young Adult, he was "so charismatic" and had a "leader's personality". "My ass," thought Clarke. She didn't think this mattered, at all, but she was going to win and rub it in his face that she won even though it wasn't important.

"Long break."

"It's fifteen minutes. It's been 9. You're not my boss."

"We'll see about that. Can you explain this?" He shoved a piece of paper in front of her face. She had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing out loud. The paper showed a very lifelike drawing of Bellamy's face, with a lot of attention to detail, freckles, cheekbones, the whole deal, but attached to the body of what looked like a 12 year-old boy. The hybrid was standing on top of a round book display, with a pile of books making him taller, and a speech balloon came out of the head saying "WHATEVER THE HELL I WANT" in all caps.

"Explain what? It seems pretty basic. Not really New Yorker level."

"It seems pretty stupid and a waste of the time of whoever did it. I don't know, I'd guess, just by looking at it and thinking of art history, that the author was an entitled spoiled girl upset about having to work for once in her life."

"Huh. Well, whoever that is, she did get your likeness down."

"Yes, pretty good work on the face, they seem to have been paying a lot of attention. Lost their hand on the body, though."

"What are you talking about? It looks just like you."

Bellamy's jaw looked so tight at this that Clarke had to exert all the self-control she had and didn't know she had not to laugh at how much he looked like a little kid who had been denied something.

"My body does not look like a preteen boy's body."

"I don't know, you are as short as one,  so maybe they got confused."

"Haha."

"Maybe it's your narrow shoulders?" she added, unable to hold back a grin that time. He looked at her and for a second Clarke thought he would take off his shirt. Wait, where did that thought come from?

"Why are you even here, anyway?"

"I'm eating? Because it's my break?"

"No, I meant, why get a job?"

"For the fun of it. I wanted to meet amusing new characters, see how the other side lives, gather stories to tell at society balls. People work for money, Bellamy."

"Yeah, but you don't need it. With your stepfather and even your mother, you could be doing something to build a fancy resume. Volunteering at the hospital looks really good no matter which area you decide to go into. The library that literally has your name would definitely not deny you some kind of fake, for appearances job there."

"You are so insufferable, you know? You don't know anything about my life."

"I think I know plenty."

"And I think you're so full of yourself and so self-centered that obviously not enough people have told you 'no' in your life. You're surrounded by yes people and you think you can talk shit to complete strangers! You have no idea who I am!"

"I just, from what I've read about your mother, I don't see her approving of you working here."

"Who says she cares? Who says she knows? Who says I care, for that matter?" She tried to calm her breathing. "Just stop assuming things about me because you've 'read' about my family, because trust me, you didn't read the relevant stuff. We're boring academics, not True Hollywood Story or even Washington gossip blog material. You've talked more about my mom in the few times we have interacted than I have talked about her in two years. Get over me."

He seemed taken aback, but just said "Already am,” after a beat. They stared at each other, her anger still in her eyes, his eyes more curious than angry, and then suddenly a blast of music started coming from one of the lockers.

"Girls! We run this motha-! Girls! We run this motha--! Girls, We run this motha--!"

Bellamy rushed over to his locker to answer his phone as Beyoncé continued: "Who run the world? GIRLS!"

"Hey, O, I'm about to leave work. [Pause] Dessert, what dessert? [Pause] I don't know if I can afford strawberries but I'll check the market. [Pause] Yeah, yeah. [Longer pause.] No no no no no. No. [Very short pause] Because the only way that delinquent is stepping foot in our home is if he starts calling himself Adam, O! [Pause] If a guy willingly calls himself "Atom" that should be your sign to run the other way. Get good instincts, O, you're gonna need them. [pause] Because it's family dinner and you're staying in! End of discussion. This isn't even a discussion. You're in, "Atom" is out, I'm bringing a strawberry pie. [Pause] If you put half the effort into your school work as you do into finding these, these, these borderline criminals, you would know this is not what fascism is. [Pause] I'm a nerd with a college degree, Octavia. [Pause] I could have another job, I..."

He seemed to finally notice Clarke was still there, even though she had turned her back and was doing her best not to listen – impossible feat in such a small space and with, frankly, such a loud voice, but she was collecting her crumbs and closing her sketchbook to leave before he was done. "O, we'll talk when I'm home, ok, I'll be there soon, I'll just catch the metro. [Pause] Yeah, ok. Maybe you can. Let's see your homework. Kay, love you." He hung up right when Clarke was standing up to leave. "Sorry about that."

"Well, family, right?"

"Yeah", he said with a huff, picking up his backpack and putting his lanyard back in the locker. Clarke felt awkward, not like leaving. He seemed stressed, like a real person for the first time, and it made her curious. She wanted to make it better? Best to actually ask than to assume, like assholes do.

"So... you don't seem old enough to have a daughter that wants to bring guys home."

"Gee, thanks. I'm not. It's, it's my little sister."

"Octavia?"

"Yeah. She's in high school. Again. It was touch and go for a while," he said, looking at her and letting out a bitter laugh.

"Octavia. Pretty.”

"I came up with it.”

“You did?”

"Eh, I was 7."

"No, it’s a good name. It was cool that they let you come up with it. Seems nice."

"Yeah." He seemed to debate with himself before continuing. "Actually, what happened was that, well, my dad died, when I was 4, and I don't actually know who Octavia's father is, we were never introduced, I guess because they weren't serious and I was just a kid."

"I'm sorry. I was trying not to make assumptions but I guess I did anyway."

"It's no big deal. Mom left when I was 16 and we had to avoid attention and live really low-key or they would have sent both of us away. They could still send her. I don't know why I'm telling you this. You don't need to make that face, I don't need you to feel sorry for me. I made my choices. She was my responsibility, I just did what I had to do."

"Other people wouldn't."

"I'm not really looking for credit here, okay? Like I said, I don't know why I shared. As you know I have a 17 year-old at home craving strawberry pie. My shift is over, and by the way, so is your break. Tomorrow is my day off so see you on Monday."

"You know, I just didn't want to make assumptions. About you. Maybe if you asked me sometime, I would tell you why you bringing up my family every time makes me so angry."

"Because rich people don't like when their connections are rightfully pointed out as the way they got ahead in life?"

Clarke raised her hands in the air and turned around to leave. Before she closed the door, she felt his hand on her elbow, and looked back.

"Sorry. Maybe I'll ask. Sometime."

"Okay." She nodded. His hand was still on her elbow and he had a curious look on his eyes, like perhaps intrigued. He shook his head suddenly, like clearing up fog, and let go of her arm. "See you on Monday," he repeated.

"See you, Bellamy."

Clarke wanted to give him a small smile or maybe touch him back in reassurance, but instead she just walked out and went back to work. Shortly after the start of sophomore year she would quit this job. By then Bellamy and her would be friends, in a fashion. She would have won some of the team rounds, he would have won others, they would be told off by the manager for "destroying the spirit of what was supposed to be a fun team effort to bring everyone closer together". They would be told off again and it would be strongly suggested that it would be impossible for both of them to continue. Clarke would raise Bellamy's suspicions by quitting without any games or further competitions to see who got to keep the job. "I don't need charity, Princess." She wouldn't mind "princess" that much by then, either. She would tell him the truth: he was just a better worker, she hated people, and to be honest, without him to argue with she wouldn't last too long there, anyway. He would just look at her, like he had started doing, that particular look, and smile as he said, "You're damn right, princess."

 _*_  


 

The sun up at Montjuïc made Clarke feel all relaxed and sleepy. Tourists crowded the place, but it wasn't uncomfortable, and she could tune out the noise as she tried to sketch part of the view, with a family on the foreground, two siblings playing at something that, as far as she could see, was mostly about imaginary swords and maybe dragons spitting fire. Maybe dragons sword fighting. Monty would love that movie. Right now he was once again deep in conversation with Miller. While she looked at them, Nathan broke out in laughter and Monty smiled looking at him. That was good. She had no idea where Bellamy was.

"Hey, Raven?"

Raven had one arm over her eyes and seemed to be really sleeping, but turned to Clarke without opening her eyes. "Hmmm?"

"Where is Bellamy?"

"Hm, how would I know? Do I have him on radio or something. Bellamy, come in."

"No offense but you've been particularly pissy in Spain."

"I'm not pissy!" She sat up. "I'm just, I don't know. A trip to the other side of the world should make you feel a little different, right?"

"What feelings are you trying to avoid?" Clarke asked curiously.

"Not avoid, just... Oh forget it." She lied back down, putting on her sunglasses and earphones. Clarke raised her brow but knew better than to ask too many questions of Raven. Just then, Monty sat by her other side.

"Monty!" she said excitedly, and hugged him. He hugged her back, but laughed. "Calm down, Clarke. I’m not back from war."

She rested her head on his shoulder. "Where's Miller?"

"Talking to Bellamy back there. Figured I'd come by and see how you are doing."

"I have half a sketch. Oh! Dragons sword fighting!"

"Awesome. Wait, what?"

The two siblings weren't playing anymore, now making themselves sticky with popsicles. She was never having children. "Just this idea I had. Thought you'd like it."

"I do. Needs to be a comic book. Or a movie."

"Dragons against robot dragons?"

"Yes. Perfect. I need to watch that."

They stayed quiet, watching the beautiful view in the early morning. Clarke sketched some more so she would be able to finish it later, at night, before sleeping, as she had gotten used to doing. It had been a habit of hers in high school, but she had let it slide after college got too overwhelming. It was nice, like writing on a journal, but with images instead. Sketches representing not only what she saw, but how everything made her feel. Monty laid back, resting on his elbows. After a while, she turned to him and, filled with a sudden overwhelming tender feeling, pushed some of his hair back from his forehead. He refused to do anything about that bowl cut.

"Thanks, mom."

She laughed quietly. "I'm sorry. For not paying attention. I want you to feel comfortable telling me things. I'm sorry you don't and I swear I will do my best to fix us."

"What are you talking about?"

"You and Miller?"

Monty blushed. "There's nothing really... Wow, is it so obvious that you noticed?"

"Hey, I'm being nice!"

"There's nothing really happening. I mean nothing officially happening. I like him."

"He is definitely into you."

"You think?"

"Hey, it's so obvious I noticed it," she said, sticking her tongue out at him.

"Sorry about that. I didn't mean that you haven't been paying attention or whatever. I mean, you're usually not really good with the feelings thing. Which is fine! It's part of the Clarke package. But I am comfortable telling you anything. It's just, like I said, I'm still not sure how much of a thing this even is."

"But you'd tell me? That hasn't changed?"

"Clarke. Nothing has changed." He was going to say more, she could feel it, but at that moment Bellamy and Miller approached them, Miller announcing it was time to go to the Gothic Quarter.

"Isn't it time for lunch?"

"No, it's time for the Gothic Quarter," said Bellamy very seriously, and the guys knew better than to question the timetable. "Is she seriously sleeping?" he said, looking down at Raven. "I'm gonna have to put a limit on how many drinks you girls are allowed to have at night."

"Us girls? I had breakfast before you, mister man. Hey, Nathan, gimme that leaf branch", asked Clarke. She used it to gently tickle Raven's neck.

"Aah, what the fuck, Griffin."

"There, everyone is ready!"

"Does Your Grace want a piggyback ride down the hill? Or to be carried bridal style? Maybe just over the shoulder, your face with a view of my butt..."

"Just shut up, Bellamy."

Walking around the Gothic Quarter, Clarke couldn't stop herself from stopping and taking pictures with every step. After going into churches and seeing museums, the group retreated, exhausted, to the Plaça Reial, the royal square, according to the book. Some palms and fountains made it look fresh, but Clarke was extremely thankful for her permanently filled water bottle, because the heat would be the death of her.

Bellamy sat down beside her around the fountain. “Kicked out of the boy’s club?”

“By Raven, yes.”

"Sometimes I worry maybe you two really don't like each other. Is it unresolved sexual tension?”

He just looked at her with one arched eyebrow. “Yeah, that must be it.”

"You’d be great together.” Clarke teased.

"Yeah, epic.” He rolled his eyes. “It really didn’t work with her and Kyle, did it?"

"She really wanted to get rid of him."

"Hm." Bellamy stared ahead, with that look of his, of someone who knows more than you and is internally gloating about knowing more than you, and barely holding in external, explicit gloating.

"Oh, what now? Sometimes I think you make shit up on purpose to make me feel like I don't know anything about emotions or whatever and you're such an expert, Bellamy Blake, PhD in feelings."

"I'm not... I don't care. I can't help it that I'm perceptive and you're not. At all."

"I am, too."

"Clarke, I would go to war with you, but if I need a wingman, I'm sticking with Miller." He paused. "Does she not look, like, particularly annoying to you?"

"Well... yeah, she does. She said something when we were up at the hill about wanting the trip to make her feel different? But I didn't know she was running away from any feelings."

"You don't have the monopoly on thinking that crossing an ocean and walking around for a few weeks will magically change your heart, Clarke. When was the last time Raven had a guy she really liked, someone you saw more than just a couple of times?"

"Well… never. I mean, after He Who Shall Not Be Named."

"Yeah. What is up with girls in this group and repressed emotions?"

"Are you saying she’s still hung up on Finn?"

"I'm not saying anything. Except that you're never the only one running away."

"What are you running away from?"

"I'm not."

"So you're not everyone? You're special?"

"Finally you understand!" He ruffled her hair, she slapped his hand away, but was suddenly curious to ask why hadn't he had any girls around, whom he really liked, who showed up more than just a couple of times, for such a long time that she really couldn't remember the last one, had only vague recollections of player Bellamy from the early years, always ridiculously surrounded by two or five girls.

"Do you want an ice cream cone? I want an ice cream cone. Let's find some." He got up and extended his hand to her. She took it.

III

Eventually, her relationship with Bellamy had calmed down. Her final paper in Professor Wallace's class had gotten an A-, and in the last day the class met, Bellamy had stopped her from leaving and handed her a book. When she saw that is was an edition collecting Aristotle's Rhetoric and Poetics, she looked up, to see him at his desk, picking up all his stuff, a smile on his face, dimple on his cheek, but never looking up at her.

She still saw him around the history department and the political science department, and after having read some of his published work and transcripts of his talks at conventions, she'd understood he was sort of a big shot and was admired by the professors. As a freshman, she knew that could be her future, maybe. Bellamy had kept on emailing her links to papers he thought would interest her and others he knew she'd disagree with, and they would have hours of arguments, at first because he drove her crazy and she couldn't just keep her mouth shut, but then because, to be honest, she realized she had always enjoyed it, and obviously he enjoyed it, and soon it was their thing to create out of the box scenarios and argue about what they would do in whatever dystopia they had created.

"Just one apocalyptic event and you're committing genocide all over the place, Bellamy?!"

"Your claim that you wouldn't is the product of blind idealism. I'm disappointed."

"That I wouldn't kill hundreds of people just because we'd be living post-civilization?"

"Not *just*. To save your people!"

"I think not killing other people would be a very integral rule to keep, especially in this wild scenario where apparently no rules exist. Call me a starry-eyed idealist, but I think I could manage to _not kill people_."

"I hope the machines don't rise in our lifetime, then."

These were the arguments that their other friends didn't understand, and then suddenly Bellamy had turned... necessary. She missed him when they didn't talk, which due to their busy schedules, ended up happening. They would go without talking for a couple of weeks, and she would always be so happy to see him again that she started sending him messages even on busy days. They’d shared personal things. He had quoted Hamlet after learning how quickly after Abby had remarried after Clarke’s father died in that car crash. Bellamy was her partner, and somehow he was always with her, in a way she didn’t even understand.

Then another year had gone by, Sophomore Year flashing by, and Clarke had fallen into this very busy but okay life. She had her friends, though she barely had time to see them: Monty and her weren't taking classes together, Raven was either working or studying, Bellamy was still divided between grad school and his job and Octavia, who had decided not to go to college because she didn't want to become "the status quo".

But still, it was nice to have occasional pub weekends, and, whenever the others allowed Clarke and Bellamy to, some very intense trivia nights. She was working as a barista (Bellamy showed up some mornings, since she was near campus, and always gave her a different Ancient Roman name she always misspelled), she hadn't seen her mom since one terrible fight during summer, after which she'd decided to stay in the city working and crash on Raven's couch, and now Monty and her were renting their own place, where they could stay through holidays and not have to deal with weird roommates.

Of course, now that Bellamy was technically not her nemesis anymore, technically, someone else had to show up to fill the spot, and on the first day of her seminar on interest groups and parties, she could already tell who it would be. Her name was Lexa, apparently a transfer student. She found the need to counter every single one of Clarke's points, in every single class, till finally, Clarke guessed as revenge for their arguments in class, the Foreign Policy professor had put them on the same team for a presentation slash debate he was scheduling. The team was just the two of them. "Griffin, Kopman, let's see how well you do on the same side," she had said. Clarke had looked back at Lexa, who had already been looking at her. Lexa raised one eyebrow but the rest of her face remained expressionless. Clarke felt her own face form a challenging, come and get it expression in return, automatically, and one side of Lexa's lips raised in response, till she looked down.

They met at the library later. Clarke found Lexa playing with what looked like...

"Is that a knife?"

"It’s just a Swiss Army knife."

"First of all, you can't have weapons in campus? Second of all, I'd like to know if I'm just here to be used as your alibi later."

“Weapons? It’s a Swiss Army knife.”

“To survive in the wilderness of D.C.?”

"It has sentimental value. It’s old."

"I guess I just don’t understand the symbolism. You should put it away."

"Good thing I didn’t bring my dagger."

Clarke looked up from her bag, trying to see if it was a joke. Lexa kept her same straight face: “We should get started on this, right? Our reluctant alliance."

"Yes, our reluctant alliance. Am I Germany or the USSR?"

Lexa just stared at her.

"Uh, because you said alliance, and reluctant... it made it sound serious. I mean, I joke sometimes."

"Ah," answered Lexa. Her tone implied that ay, there was the rub: "I never joke," she might as well have said. “I guess the dagger is real,” thought Clarke, preparing for a long night. Gladly, she'd brought her biggest coffee container, filled up at work.

"That is a lot of coffee. It's after 6pm."

"I know."

"You shouldn't drink that much coffee ever, but especially not after 6pm."

"Are you my mother?"

Lexa just stared at her again.

"Wow, I was being sarcastic."

"I noticed that, Clarke. I just think sarcasm is the weakest rhetorical tool."

"I didn't realize we had gone into the rhetorical style, already."

"We are here to prepare this debate, Clarke. I don't wanna lose it. I worked pretty hard to transfer here."

"I have worked pretty hard here, myself. I don't wanna lose it, either. I hate losing."

"Good. So we agree on that. At least. Let's start?"

"Let's."

That first night at the library had turned into many other nights, always with coffee. Clarke had learned Lexa always carried that army knife. Lexa had learned Clarke always drank coffee at night. Lexa was very serious, at first, but on the 5th night Clarke made a throwback comment to sarcasm being a weak rhetorical tool, really to try and get under Lexa’s skin and get some reaction out of her more than anything else, and Lexa had smiled with a hint of satisfaction. It gave Clarke this weird feeling of pride. She thought of Lexa as a strict and unfunny know-it-all who took pride in how cold and oh so superior to everyone else she was. “So, like you?” Monty had pointed out one night when she got home from another debate practice session. Clarke had thrown a pillow at him, but then couldn’t stop thinking about little things she saw in Lexa, little things that… reminded Clarke of herself. Of a side of herself that the past year, with Raven and Monty and, well, Bellamy, had kind of made her, if not exactly forget, at least be able to balance better. With Lexa she felt free to let that part of herself free. She guessed this was good. She felt it would be good for her, to have different people with whom she could be different versions of herself.

The debate came and it was a success. The professor congratulated both of them on being able to use their animosity to build a great set of arguments and counterarguments. “This is how great political advances are made, everyone. Pay attention.” Afterwards, as they were packing their things, Lexa had stopped to stare for a bit too long, and Clarke finally had to raise her head and ask why.

“I work at this club… I don’t really work there, it’s more of a gig, I know the owners. We’re having a special party this Saturday, and since this went so well, I was thinking maybe you’d like to come, Clarke? Celebrate our victory?”

“Wow, you celebrate victories? I thought you’d be the type to just sternly go, ‘this was just a small battle. There are many wars to come.’”

“There’s still a lot you don’t know about me, Clarke. Let’s start correcting that. Come over.”

Clarke didn’t know why exactly, but she’d accepted the invitation. There was something in Lexa’s eyes. Even with all the eyeliner… which, if Clarke was being sincere, worked for her when you got used to it? The way her lips moved sometimes. The way Clarke caught her staring sometimes. So yeah, why not try this club.

It was after 11 when she walked in. The club was small, a bar on one side and a stage on the other, and a mezzanine. The first thing that became obvious was that it was a lesbian club, which didn’t surprise Clarke. She and Lexa had been spending a lot of time together after all. It was crowded that night, the small space taken over by women of varying levels of cute, making Clarke wish she had any time to date – not that school would ever let her, no one wanted a girlfriend who would always be cheating on them with sociology textbooks.

There was a band on the stage. The crowd actually paying attention to their music was not big, but also not small. Clarke decided to make her way up to the mezzanine so she could have an advantage point to spot Lexa serving drinks, or whatever her “gig” here was supposed to be. So it was a surprise when Lexa herself walked on stage, accompanied by another woman, taller than her, also older. There were now two microphones, and the other woman carried a guitar. A man went to the drum set. Lexa said goodnight to the crowd, introduced herself and her bandmates, thanked the club for always welcoming them back, and said tonight they would kick in with something a little different, start with a cover. Then the man played the drum a few times before Lexa launched into Lykke Li's "Unrequited Love" without the guitar, the other woman contributing with some humming and backing vocals.

Clarke was... hypnotized, from the start. Lexa didn't have a reality competition kind of voice but she sounded so whispery and dreamlike. Somehow she found Clarke up there, looking down, and then kept staring up at her while the band went through the small set, very few other covers, mostly originals. And it wasn't like she hadn't thought Lexa was beautiful before, but the way she held the stage, her presence, and the songs and her voice giving it all the atmosphere of some dream.

Clarke should have realized it that night. But it would only take a few weeks more. It would take a shouting match about nothing in particular (Clarke remembered yelling about Lexa having a standard set for herself and another for everyone else, like past Clarke knew things she would soon willingly forget), and an extremely heart-rending solo rendition of "Don't Think Twice, It's Alright", after which Lexa bowed and left the stage and went up to the mezzanine and held Clarke's face in her hands, to a look of wide eyed surprise from Clarke herself, before their lips met into a kiss, one of those that gives you chills up your spine, so soft, Clarke's hand going up Lexa's messy hair, Lexa's going to grab Clarke's loose tank top under her jacket, Clarke finding the skin above Lexa's leather pants and caressing it softly. It would take all of that to start it, and the fact that a breakup song had begun the Age of Clarke & Lexa would never stop being a punch-you-in-the-face joke from fate.

_*_

 

 

Back during trip planning, everyone had agreed that a trip detour North to spend two days in Paris was worth it, even if they had to make their way backwards afterward – Southern France was one of the things Clarke had been looking forward the most. It's just that they were going to be in France, so seeing Paris felt like an obligation, and even Bellamy didn't feel like wasting the opportunity of seeing the Louvre, "even if we end sleeping in the streets by the time we get to Italy".

As they left the hostel, Raven put on her giant sunglasses and said "ooh, Paris" in the most ridiculous accent before wandering off. She wanted to see what she called "the fashionable Paris". Monty and Miller said they should make this a free-for-all day and just meet back there at night, and they had been the first to "disappear". Clarke watched as Raven walked off in what they had deemed a Paris appropriate ensemble and sighed. She was in Paris and with no idea what to do. Bellamy stopped by her side.

"Hey, Bellamy. What museum are you off to today?"

"I thought people would want to go to the Louvre no matter what they said, so I'm starting with some breakfast on one of those cafes we have yet to see, just watching the French go back and forth, then I thought I'd hit the Orsay. You?"

"I was thinking about the Orsay, too. I have a sketchbook and my tools and I want to drown my eyes in color."

"You're such a nerd sometimes, I forget why I like you."

"Yeah, I'm the nerd. Let's go find that cafe. Mimosas for breakfast? What do you think? Let's be extravagant. Let's be Marie Antoinette with our heads on."

"I gotta teach you better history one of these days."

"Hmmm. You can try," she said, grinning at him before walking ahead.

Clarke quickly invented a game, Sketch Bellamy With Art. He would do something complimentary to the work and she would make a quick sketch of it. He would pretend to play cards, put Clarke's summer scarf on his head, but also just get engaged with the paintings and sculptures and then she would sketch his reactions, the concentration wrinkles on the bridge of his nose. Soon she was just drawing Bellamy reacting to art.

"I think you'll like this one. _Les raboteurs de parquet_ , the floor scrapers. It's all about perspective, and his sense of the natural light is amazing, but did you know it is one of the first paintings to show the working class? It's from the late 19th century. I don't know, it reminds me of you."

"Is it the shirtless workers, Clarke? It is, isn't it?" He smiled, but still stared at the painting.

"They were very scandalized at the time. They didn't know Bellamy Blake yet."

"I do like this a lot. They have wine. What a life."

"What, physical labor, hard earned money, a bottle of wine? You'd try to form an union, go on strike. Besides, you already drink wine while you work."

"I suppose they are working on your apartment there, are they?"

"Haha."

They walked some more, she sketched some more, while he stared up close at Gauguin's sculptures. His faux scandalized face by Courbet's _Origin of the world_ she had to take a quick snap of, looking around her for any security guards. He said one of the girls in _Ballet Class_ was definitely her, not staring at the teacher but at her own posture, already beyond lessons, and that the _Craddle_ just looked like the ending of Rosemary's Baby, then went laughing into the Van Gogh collection.

"People talk a lot about his mental illness, how he never sold a painting, or only one painting, and cutting off his own ear, because that's what people think makes up a fascinating story, but the wonderful things about Van Gogh just get forgotten. This is a companion to Starry Night, and like that one, it’s really about trying to paint at night, at dark, without the lights you’d have today. Do you see the tones of the sky, and how they color the city? Look at how the gas lighting is interacting with everything. His main interest were the colors, he just wanted to find new ways to see color so he could paint it in new ways... It's... oh, what?"

"Nothing, go ahead."

"You had a look on your face."

"It was a good look."

"Right."

"Why did you still get your Political Science B.A.?"

"Did you want me to have dropped school, too?"

"No, I'm just... I was always waiting for you to go into art or something."

"It's just, I mean, it's a hobby. I'm not an artist."

He pulled her sketchbook and flipped through it, pointing to a specific one. It was from the day they’d arrived in London. Monty, Miller, Bellamy, and Raven were laughing at something. A few pub signs could be seen behind them, but it had a cozy atmosphere of no one else being there. It made the observer into kind of an intruder. Clarke looked down at her feet.

"This looks amazing, Clarke."

She pulled the sketchbook back from him. She felt awkward all of a sudden. They just finished walking the museum in silence.

IV

Streaks of sunlight broke through the blinds in Clarke’s bedroom. Lexa and her were both awake, quiet, fiddling with each other’s hair, soft kisses on skin, light caresses. Clarke thought Lexa looked beautiful like that, skin glowing, hair tangled, the waves more pronounced, her shoulders bare, all of her bare. She felt they were really together at times like these, when there wasn’t much talking, or any talking. She didn’t feel any pressure right now, just Lexa’s lips against hers, on her collarbones, her hands on the inside of her thighs. They seemed to communicate better like this, body to body, sensation to sensation. Words just tripped them up. Right here she never felt like she was faking, creating another persona, being the kind of person Lexa wanted her to be.

She wondered how was it possible to feel so entwined in someone who didn’t really know you at all.

 _*_  


 

They were at a little outdoor place down right by the Seine, with tables and people enjoying the sun at 8PM. Raven and her were having bellinis. Monty and Miller arrived a little after the others and their hands were just casually touching on the table, Miller stroking his with his thumb. Clarke caught Monty’s eyes and they smiled. Everyone was sharing stories, of Paris, making plans for the next day. Bellamy and Clarke had gone to the catacombs after the museum tour. Monty and Miller had been to Disneyland. Raven had walked around, just seeing the sights. They decided to spend the next day going to parks instead of anywhere inside, and everyone was so anxious for time in the sun and on green grass that Bellamy convinced them to go to Versailles on the way out. He really knew how to use the right arguments for his audience. Raven seemed happy. She’d met a cute guy, she said, and he’d arranged to meet her here. Miller kissed Monty’s shoulder. Bellamy cheered for France. It was probably everything it was supposed to be. Clarke found herself staring up, at the trees on the other side of the river, at the blue sunny night skies, at the other twentysomethings around them, enjoying themselves like young people with young hearts at summer. Her heart still felt heavy, somehow, like it always did now. Raven’s guy showed up. He was from Australia. Everyone here was also a tourist, just passing by. Looking around the table, Monty and Miller were there, in love, Raven was flirting. She felt alone. Was it petty? Maybe she felt jealous. She wanted to pick up a phone but she didn’t want to think about whom she wanted to call. Bellamy was looking at her again, of course he was. She told the guys that her legs hurt a lot, and through their booing and pleading for her to say, “The sun is still up!” She left some cash on the table and left anyway. She hoped Bellamy wouldn’t follow her, but when he didn’t, she felt like crying.

She couldn’t sleep that night. Some type of guilt kept eating her inside. She had thought that being here would have been enough, but she felt like she was in a bubble, distant from everyone. She kept seeing happy faces in her head. She kept seeing Bellamy, staring at her, constantly staring at her. He would forgive her for anything, and would never let her down. It was strange how sure of that she was. But she would let herself down. She thought of his worried eyes that always knew about her. She buried herself in more thoughts of things she should have forgotten.

The Buttes-Chaumont was lovely to rest after a full day of walking, the following evening. There had been so much walking, everyone was definitely taking some pain meds before sleeping tonight. Tomorrow they started their way south.

Clarke had been quiet all day. Bellamy had spent most of it by Miller, but seeing as he was kind of trying to start a relationship there, and Raven had also carried Australian with her, he kind of stood aside. Hadn’t tried to talk to her much, and part of her wondered why. They were now sitting here, couples being couples, Bellamy not by her side, her with her sketchbook, but not to put down the view, or anything.

She stood up and decided to walk. There were plants and flowers and small ponds, she could go anywhere. Mostly she wanted to run, felt the overwhelming need to get away, but she would settle for walking. Away.

Bellamy found her at the Sybille temple, looking down at the wild trees and the water.

“Do you feel better alone?”

“Not really, no.” She turned around to look at him. “I’m being insufferable, right? I’m sorry. I don’t wanna bring down the mood. It’s why I didn’t wanna be here in the first place. I've just been thinking a lot about… things. It's distracting.”

“Try talking instead of just thinking?”

“I don't wanna do that. Look, it’ll go away. I just need a moment.”

“I don't think it will. I think you need more than a moment.”

“Yeah, maybe I should just finish the trip on my own, right?” She let out a bitter laugh, then looked up at him when he didn't react at all. “What, do you want me to leave?”

“I want you to talk. Really talk. I’m asking if _you_ want to be here.”

“I just… maybe I don’t know what I want, okay? Is it okay for me to not know what I want for once?”

Bellamy laughed. “No, it’s great. It’s great to admit that, too. Sometimes. It’s not wrong to have weaknesses, Clarke. Did you ever think maybe the people who care about you could help you? Or that you’re not alone with your problems?”

“Maybe there’s nothing you can do. Have you ever considered that?”

“Yes, but I just want you to talk to me. You don’t have to deal with everything on your own. You can share this. I want to share this with you. It’s just… this has to be a two-way street.”

They fell silent after this, for a while. She felt cornered. She felt like he would, at any moment, start bringing everything back, everything that had happened, and she didn’t want to hear it. Maybe she deserved to hear it, but she just wanted to heal on her own.

“Everyone feels alone, Clarke. I, I mean, all of us, we feel alone when you get like this. And I could, we could… Like I said, I want to help. You feel alone? That’s because you _make_ yourself alone. You don’t even say what is it that you have to deal with? What is it that you think you did wrong?”

“I’m sorry?”

“It would help if I knew what it is that you think was your big mistake here. What would you have done differently?”

Clarke thought, staring ahead. She thought about the sunlight streaming in through the window in the morning again. “I wouldn’t have started it with Lexa.”

“I think you would. You fell in love with someone. It was the wrong person, but so what? I understand you think that you failed, and maybe you did fail some stupid standard you set for yourself, but, no offense, your standards are bullshit.”

She didn’t say anything, still staring ahead, so he continued.

“You don’t get to choose who you’re gonna fall for. Hell, maybe even if you could, you would still have chosen her. You would still have picked her. We have all made that exact mistake. You give your heart away, and from that point on it’s up to what the other person wants to do with it. All you did was give your heart to the wrong person who looked like the right person. Big deal.”

She didn’t feel like taking this right now. She didn’t wanna hear any of this right now. He was breathing hard. Clarke was taken over by an anger she couldn’t explain. Suddenly having him there, practically shouting those words at her, made everything feel like an accusation. The worst part, the kick in the nuts part, was that she wanted to stand up for Lexa. Part of her thought it wasn't really wrong, what had happened, that it made sense. That she should message her or email her and get their small world back, because her resentment was just immature. She wanted it all back, and if they all thought Lexa was horrible, what did that make her? He had no right to stand there, his face in fucking agony, because he didn’t even know.

It was a long silence, his hurt or angry eyes staring down at hers, her blank expression not betraying anything on the inside. She didn’t know how to explain it. That’s just what it was. They all wanted to talk about it, but she would never know how. She chose to pick on something he said that she could argue with. She chose the Clarke Griffin method.

“I didn’t ask for your help. I don’t really want anyone’s help. I keep saying that, and none of you want to hear it, and you keep trying to make me feel better, but it’s for your own sake. I just still need time.”

“Maybe it is for our own sake. Maybe I do want to help for myself. I do. I’m selfish, because I need you. You’re right. I need you. I’ve missed you. I've been missing you for a long time now.”

He just stared at her, his jaw clenched. His eyes lost some of their determination and now just seemed… sad. He looked away and she missed the eye contact, missed the fire, good or bad, that his eyes had given her. Now he was looking away from her and his eyes looked sad and her life was so fucked.

“What do you really know about giving your heart, anyway, Bellamy? Not all of us can use our little sister as a shield against feelings. Have you ever even been in love?”

He looked back at her, finally. “You’re right. I don’t know anything about just giving it all to someone to keep or throw away or keep then throw away then take back. What would I know?” He let out a bitingly bitter low laugh. “Well, I know you. I know you’re stubborn, and that you have to be right. This? Is just a more fucked up version of that. You want to be right about how terrible you are. I’m sorry. I’m never going to believe that or go along with it. Because you know I know you better than anyone else, and you know you have pretty much saved my life so many times, and you know that you need me, too. I want you to realize that I’m still going to… I’m always going to care. I’m always going to be here for you, but you don’t want that right now. If you ever, at any moment, want to talk, you can come to me. It doesn’t matter when or how or even what you want to talk about. But until you do, and I know this is bad timing, the middle of a trip, but I just need to take a step back, okay?”

His eyes on her again. She felt like, like always, that they were trying to get inside her soul. The sun was finally starting to set, the large trees making a soft noise in the breeze. She remembered when Octavia had that trouble with the police, got involved with some people that had a lot of attention on them, and Bellamy was desperate and sure he would lose her. It was late at night, he got into a fight with some guys in a bar, she got involved in it to protect him, they were kicked out, they were sitting on a curb at 4AM on a weekday, Bellamy with blood on his face, Clarke wanting to take him to an ER. He had started crying because he had failed his sister and he was just like their mother, and she’d hugged him and he had sobbed on her shoulder. Calling up Senator Jaha, her mom, hadn’t felt like a favor to him, didn’t feel like that to her. She wanted him to clean himself out of his self-doubts, see himself as she and everyone else saw him. Here in the present, there in Paris, he just stared at her, for what _felt_ like no time at all, and turned away, walked away, and Clarke suddenly felt an entirely different kind of bad. A huge part of her had just switched off.

V

It wasn’t that Lexa was _bad_. Clarke wasn’t into the bad girl/boy thing. Lexa was committed. She was serious. She appealed to another side of Clarke, the part of her that wanted to accomplish. At first she didn’t demand a lot, emotionally. All of Clarke’s friends were just, well, emotional people, and with Lexa she felt she could turn that off a little bit. Monty had joked that they were a couple of robots, back before they hooked up, when Lexa was a study buddy. Maybe it wasn’t a joke, put in perspective. Still, she didn’t think there was anything wrong with that. Her entire life had been conflict, and Lexa had her own… tumultuous history, but the way she chose to deal with that was brand new to Clarke. “You can’t dwell on the past, Clarke. The past is just dead weight. Just look ahead.” At first Clarke thought she sounded so cold and detached from everything. It was hard to see any real feelings behind the mask. Then she’d heard about her trouble coming out to her parents, being kicked out of her house, how her first girlfriend had been sent away to some religious camp and had gone completely no contact with her.

“I hear she’s married now. To a guy. So that’s that.”

“That’s terrible. What kind of parents would make their own kid go through that?”

“Family doesn’t really mean anything. It’s just people you think you’re forced to stick to. You don’t owe anything to your mom. I don’t owe anything to my parents. She didn’t owe anything to hers. Yeah, she’s living a lie, but Clarke, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, is that no one can force you to be or do anything. You make yourself. She knows she’s living a lie. It’s a comfortable lie to her. It made me decide that I’m never going to get that comfortable.”

Clarke laughed. “Come on. You’re not gonna get comfortable? What does that even mean?”

“It means that you can’t really trust people, Clarke. You don’t ever really know anyone. When you depend on someone else, when you invest a lot of yourself in some other person, suddenly you don’t know who you are without them, anymore. That other person is responsible for your entire self. I want to always be in control of myself.”

“You can’t protect yourself from never getting hurt. What kind of life is that? It just sounds… lonely.”

“Maybe it is. Maybe it’s not possible. But be honest. Doesn’t it sound pretty good?” Clarke lowered her head. She thought of Finn and all his very sweet and very romantic lies. She thought of Wells calling her dad to pick him up after basketball practice, and the accident on their way back, her father dying instantly and her not able to be friends with Wells ever again, and her mom moving on. She thought of Bellamy’s mom just leaving, too.

It did sound okay.

Bonding over how much feelings sucked wasn’t really… the healthiest of ways to get close to someone. She knew that. She also liked the feel of Lexa’s lips on hers, on her. She liked how Lexa looked at her, how she was always so distant but when they were together sometimes she looked so open and vulnerable and caring. Honestly, she looked at Clarke like she adored her, and it felt so special. When she was with Lexa, it felt like they were the only ones in the world, them versus everyone, and there was a power to it that Clarke wouldn’t see as destructive till later.

They went on a weekend trip. Clarke was definitely not an outside person, but Lexa liked adventures, of course. She didn’t carry around a Swiss Army knife for nothing. And that dagger? Had not been made up for a joke. Nature made her feel like a part of something, she used to say. It has its own order, and we have to bend to understand it. “You don’t control nature, you just go along with it. You know, like us?” She’d smile, and keep walking, urging Clarke to go faster. “The ground is so wet! Can’t we at least camp when it’s not raining?” Lexa didn’t really like things simple, or easy.

They would sit down and stare at the stars. Clarke had trouble sleeping outside, afraid of wild animals, of being eaten by a bear or something. Lexa laughed it off. “I’ll protect you from any bears,” she said.

“Oh, you’re going to fight a bear with that little knife, there? Or did you bring your dagger?”

“Clarke, I’ll fight that bear with just my two hands for you.”

“Oh, will you build me a fire?”

“From scratch. Give me two rocks.”

She would calm Clarke’s fears with her hands, her eyes on her. It was just them. “Isn’t it better when it’s just the two of us?,” Lexa always asked.

There were little things. Lexa didn’t really like any of her friends. Funnily enough, she never really had a problem with Monty; he was the one who couldn’t stand her. With everyone else she had a problem. Especially Bellamy. She once found a guy’s shirt in between Clarke’s stuff, and casually but not so casually asked where had it come from. It was just a shirt Bellamy had left behind, on some night he had stayed over for one or other reason, and it was comfortable so Clarke had kept it, first to annoy him, and then because, well… she liked it. The explanation didn’t really satisfy Lexa, and Clarke got it. She wouldn’t like to find out Lexa was “sharing” clothes with someone else, either, even if it had happened before their relationship. So she gave Bellamy the shirt back, which he thought was a joke, at first, and maybe he’d been kind of hurt by that, but friendships change when someone is in a relationship, and she realized she probably had to draw some new boundaries. Not because there was ever anything between her and Bellamy, but maybe texting someone else all the time wasn’t what people with girlfriends did.

“She’s your girlfriend, now? I thought you weren’t rushing or doing ‘labels’,” he’d said, using air quotes.

“Well, I don’t know. I mean, yeah, we’re girlfriends. I’m just saying, she didn’t like that you were texting me last night. It was 3AM. Don’t you get how that looks?”

“We’ve always texted at 3AM. 2AM. 5AM. We’re the only ones up. How did it look like before Lexa?”

“Look, I’m just trying to make this easy on everyone, okay? She doesn’t know you that well.”

“That’s because you never really officially introduced us.”

“You’ve met her!”

“With a group of people.”

“Do you want a special dinner?”

“I don’t know. Just trying to understand why you keep her such a secret. Is she a terrorist or something? Did she murder someone?”

“No!” Well, probably not, Clarke thought. “I just… you’d just interrogate her like she’s one of Octavia’s boyfriends.”

“So I’m your big brother, now?”

“No! Why are you being so difficult about this? You act like I’m breaking up with you.”

“Are you?”

“We’re not together, Bellamy.”

“Right. I know. You have a girlfriend. That’s okay. I just won’t text you my late night thoughts. Your loss, princess.”

The truth was, Clarke was wary of introducing Lexa into her group of friends. It didn’t look like they’d be a match, or like they’d click at all, and thinking about the reasons why that’d be wasn’t something she wanted to do. Lexa and her friends were always two separate Things, in her mind, substances that did not mix, that should not touch, really, or it would cause an explosion.

VI

There were the pub nights. Clarke liked to make a clear narrative of everything, organize everything so it made sense, keep track of things. She remembered one day, arriving late to meet the guys at their regular pub, and unburdening all her feelings on how unbearable it was to have to work with Lexa, how she had no sense of humor, how talking to her was like hitting your head against a brick wall and pulling nails at the same time. Everyone comforted her. Well, Monty comforted her, Raven said that if Clarke wanted she could arrange Lexa’s “disappearance,” and Bellamy had commented that now Clarke finally knew how he felt around her all the time, and to remind him to buy this Lexa a beer one day. Clarke had laughed at the idea of Lexa and Bellamy ever having a conversation, and the night had moved on as usual.

She remembered another night, Monty complaining that Lexa had been staying over too late, using their couch overnight too many times. Clarke had explained, without much detail, because that would have betraying confidence, about Lexa’s own living situation, and how it just made it easier for them to study, and how Monty never had any issue when anyone else stayed over on that couch, which had seen literally all of their friends at one point or another, even Octavia, twice. “I just don’t like her. You used to hate her, I don’t even know what happened there.”

“Oh, I know what happened. Clarke is into her now.” Clarke had tried to change the topic, her thing with Lexa still too new and fragile to share, but her attempt at escaping the conversation had turned Bellamy more into it. “Oh, the nemesis turned lover. Classic literary trope. A little overplayed.” Raven had eyed Bellamy with that one perfectly arched eyebrow, and Bellamy had tried stared back with a questioning face, before shaking his head and looking down, with that jaw clenching expression he got sometimes. Raven had then smiled a victorious smile at Monty, and these were all things Clarke did notice, but only in the back of her mind, her brain more occupied replaying that Lexa smile she’d seen so rarely and the way her curls fell around her face all wild in the morning.

“Monty hates your girlfriend,” Raven had said as soon as the two of them sat down, opening another pub night, this one with no boys present, for one reason or another. “He also says you are loud when you have sex.”

“We are not loud!” Clarke blushed. She sighed. “It’s weird because Lexa actually likes him. And she doesn’t like anyone.”

“Sounds like a winner, I can see why you like her so much!”

“She’s just hard to get to know. I guess I know her in a different way. At first she’s really…”

“A bitch?”

“A little bit abrasive. But once she cares about you, and you know more about her, it’s different.”

“You mean, once you have loud sex with her and it’s great, her bad personality doesn’t matter so much.”

“No. That’s not what I mean.” Not that the sex didn’t help, she thought.

“Okay, so when do we get to know her? Better, and deeply? Don’t worry, not that deeply.”

Clarke was still worried. She just knew there was no way of this going well. But Lexa and her were getting, well, serious, maybe were already pretty serious, and these were her best friends, and for how long could she realistically keep them apart? “Forever,” a part of her said. And that would be ideal. But she’d caved, in the end, and after much work convinced Lexa to come to another pub night. They would have drinks to ease the conversation. Clarke decided they should go to another pub so Lexa wouldn’t feel like she was visiting enemy territory or something. She knew better than to corner her girlfriend.

Things didn’t start off so well, because everyone was late. Bellamy also decided to bring over Miller, who was great, but not yet an official member of their group, and that would change an already delicate dynamic. Then Monty hadn’t made much of an effort to be nice. Clarke guessed he had already decided to hate Lexa, and she understood his stubbornness, it was one of the things the two of them shared and had united them as friends, but tonight she could have really used more support. Raven was on interrogation mode, asking questions about past relationships, stopping just short of the “so what are your intentions toward Clarke?” question. Lexa didn’t seem that thrown by any of this, though. It was when Bellamy brought in the subject of politics that things got more heated. Clarke couldn’t have imagined that the night would have involved a heated argument on forms of government, with Lexa arguing the president should have more power instead of being little more than a figurehead, and Bellamy calling her a dictatorship-apologist – words that had really come out of his mouth, for as much as Clarke couldn’t believe it. They had tried to make things better by playing a few games, but whatever they tried, either pool or darts, led to a vicious competition between the two of them, with Monty cheering for Bellamy and Raven standing by Clarke with an apologetic look.

After that, Clarke had sort of slowly disappeared from pub nights. Bellamy and Monty had apologized for their behavior, and her roommate did start trying harder with Lexa in the mornings, but there was really no way Clarke would mix those two sides of her life again, and Lexa was her girlfriend after all. So when she suggested they move in together, Clarke said yes, and Monty had found another roommate, with her help. After leaving, she hadn’t shown up to a pub night again.

 _*_  


 

So far, Clarke had spent their entire time in southern France silently replaying the past year in her mind over and over. They’d gone from Paris to the beaches. It would be all sunrises and sunsets and blue sea and sand getting everywhere from there through Italy. Raven dumped the Australian at some point before Cap d’Agde. Monty and Miller spent all their time together, making Clarke go from happy for them to bitter about it very quickly, moods up and down like a rollercoaster. More like a rollercoaster crash, she felt.

Of course, what made it all worse was Bellamy. She missed talking to him. He wasn’t giving her the silent treatment, exactly, but they also hadn’t had a moment alone since that day in Paris. They were part of group conversations, but at any opportunity they got to talk, he avoided even looking at her. More than once he had muttered something about having “something” to do to a spot above her head. With Monty and Miller in their honeymoon phase, after Raven found herself alone Clarke decided to give her and Bellamy space to hang out. So he hated Clarke now, fine, but she deserved it, and he deserved to not be alone all the time. What a great eurotrip with friends this had turned out to be, each of them in their quarters, Monty trying his best to enjoy a new relationship and still not leave Clarke alone, Miller trying his best to spend time with his new boyfriend without leaving Bellamy alone, Raven balancing Bellamy and Clarke, him unable or unwilling to even just talk to her anymore.

Raven and Bellamy did hang out for a while, or at least she thought so, though she couldn’t imagine what they’d found to talk about – it certainly wouldn’t be her, after all. That was a pretty self-centered thought, anyway, imagining the two of them discussing her and her moods and what to do about them, like they didn’t have their own lives.

So she caught up on her reading. She had a book of Collected Poems by Vita Sackville-West, a recommendation by Bellamy, but trying to read that was torture in more ways than one, when she couldn’t even go bother him about poetry not making any sense. She stuck to non-fiction after that. Non-fiction and beach sketches. She’d catch herself sometimes sketching freckles and chin dimples, brown curls, and at times different loose brown curls falling long over shoulders and a rarely seen smile, sometimes teeth biting a tongue. She never finished those. They ended up shoulders without heads, curls seen from the back, Cheshire smiles.

She’d seen so many beautiful things over here, but was still mostly inside herself, Europe just a collection of fragments that didn’t fit together. Maybe this isolation was good to everyone else. Had anyone ever been more of a buzzkill? There was nothing Clarke hated more than self-pity, honestly, just get over yourself, yet here she was.

They had been scouting around some more secluded beaches around Toulon when they ran into a group of, well, Clarke had no better way to put it, hippie weirdos. That’s when Bellamy had met the Swedish girl, Ekaterina. “What kind of name is that?,” she’d asked Raven, who had just replied, “I don’t know, _Clarke_. I am _Raven_ , by the way,” then laughed when Clarke rolled her eyes. “You aren’t jealous, are you? You and Bellamy haven’t been talking and I know something happened. Not that I care, but it’s annoying. You stuck me with Bellamy and that’s not something friends do.”

“Nothing like that happened. Anyway, now I guess you can be stuck with me? I am very good at sucking the joy out of otherwise very enjoyable situations.”

“Oh God, yes, I thought you’d never ask!” Raven had hugged her then. They’d both laughed, but it felt nice.

Bellamy smiled around the new girl, sometimes. It looked like his flirting smile, not his real smile, the one she saw around Octavia and, yes, herself, sometimes, a lot of times, but he was still smiling, and that was nice. She guessed. It felt a bit like he had given up on her, but she couldn’t rationalize that thought, not after what he had said in so many words in Paris. She couldn’t figure out why him hooking up with some admittedly hot Swede during vacation on freaking Southern France had to mean anything to them, any form of them that could still exist, or to her. She herself had just pointed out, in Barcelona, that he’d been alone for a long time. So, good for him. She was probably jealous he’d found a summer girlfriend and she was still spending most of her time on the one who got away. Could she call her that? Lexa hadn’t exactly gotten away. She had more… showed her priorities. Given Clarke a very reasonable and logical choice. When you thought about it, Clarke was really the one who got away.

Time went by a lot better now, hanging out with Raven by what seemed like an endless stream of beaches, comparing tans (unfairly, as Clarke would always point out), talking about the beach hotties. Raven was a friend, a great friend, but she didn’t have that Bellamy way of figuring her out, knowing too much. Raven knew her, yeah, and she knew Raven, but on a comfortable level that even this Clarke could deal with.

After many “caps” and “sur-Mers” and “plages” they reached their final stop before Italy. Clarke would have liked to tease Bellamy about that, “look, the only reason you are here has finally come!,” but their interactions were still weird, and she was definitely still weird about approaching him. Anything she might say could be used against her in another intervention. A few nights before they got to Nice, Clarke and Raven had gotten drunk, and she’d kissed this cute French local on a dare, to whooping noise from Raven, but also Monty and Miller, who’d decided to come up for air. Monty had hugged Clarke multiple times, and she’d wanted to say that she wasn’t a sick teddy bear, but he was a great hugger, and the more drinks they all took the better the hugging felt. The kissing hadn’t been bad, either. That French girl was pretty cute, Raven had picked well. She’d later tried to get her contacts, find any way to get back in touch with her, but she spoke no English, and that was the perfect excuse. It had been nice, yeah, “but slow down, Marie,” she’d joked.

“Is her name really Marie?”

“I don’t know, Monty.”

“I had never seen this Clarke before,” laughed Miller.

“Oh, my girl is a serial heartbreaker.”

“Oh yeah, Raven is right, that’s me. Clarke Griffin, just breaking hearts left and right. Even when my girlfriends technically betray me, I am still the heartbreaker.”

The mood had flattened after that. Fun had never been Clarke’s area of expertise. She’d caught Bellamy, sitting on the other side of the bar. His girlfriend, or friend, or whatever she was, wasn’t there at the moment, and he was staring at her. She couldn’t tell what this one meant. It made her sober up, like she was already hungover. She held his look, though. He was the one to break it. Small victories.

Next morning the plan was Paloma Plage. Monty, who had developed a more than passing fondness for diving, said the place was supposed to be great for it. Not-Katerina and some friends, different from the ones she had around when they had all met, were there, too. She’d tried small talk with Clarke a couple of days earlier, over breakfast, but Clarke couldn’t answer with more than a few grunts.

“Sorry, my friend is not great at small talk,” Monty had interrupted. “Not a morning person.”

“Yeah, sorry. Not personal.” Clarke added, smiling apologetically. After breakfast, she found herself filled with questions. She wanted to interrogate Monty, she wanted to know what Bellamy thought. About everything. About all that they were seeing, about whatever he was reading, about bisexual poets, even about the girl he was seeing. Did he like her? Was it for fun? But if she wanted to ask him about any of it, she would have to bring everything back, she would have to concede he was right about her and Lexa, and he wasn’t. Not really. She didn’t think so.

The beach was beautiful. They had all had a good time together, even though they had a few strangers in the circle and Clarke was not really very open to new friends. A sunny day, bright blue skies, water so clear you could see everything – they had all dived in the end. Some of Katerina’s (“it’s easier to say, you can just call me that,” she’d said) friends had brought pot, which, to Monty’s eyeroll, made Clarke nervous. “Being arrested in France will look great in my grad school applications,” she said, and then got confused, because when did she start thinking about grad school again? But there was food and champagne too, which all felt like a luxury, especially when Bellamy’s eyes had met hers more than once, and he seemed happy, satisfied.

They’d left pretty late, decided to watch the sunset from there, with a view of all the villas where the rich and famous spent some of their vacations. Then they walked back, legs tired but contently so, and Katerina had asked Bellamy to go back with her to wherever her friends were staying, and he did, throwing a look back at Clarke as he got in their car, and then Monty and Miller clearly wanted alone time, so Raven and Clarke found themselves alone in their bedroom, feet resting inside buckets they’d been able to fill with boiling water, rubbing cream on their faces and shoulders, lamenting their dry hair.

When the wine bottles were opened the conversation took a more serious turn, before either of them even noticed. A throwaway comment had made Raven mention Kyle, which reminded Clarke of Bellamy’s “everyone is running away” comment, and suddenly they were there, in their robes, face masks on, the night running very late, on their second bottle, like some kind of moment in a romcom.

“Do you miss Finn?” Clarke asked.

Raven took a while to answer, just staring at her own feet propped up on a pillow for so long that Clarke regretted even asking.

“I miss the idea of Finn.” Raven finally answered. “I miss the boy next door who asked me over to his house when my mom was at work and forgot to leave food, and he’d always actually cook for me and we’d watch tv and I’d help him study, so I’d feel better, because then he wouldn’t be doing me any favors.”

“When did you start dating?”

“It just kind of happened. Like it was the natural order of things. We were kids and then puberty came and it was a, I guess it was a Dawson and Joey situation,” Raven said, and rolled her eyes right after, letting her head drop backward dramatically. “It was a small town, everyone knew mom was a deadbeat, his parents loved me, then school started having dances, and boys and girls started holding hands and blushing. This one school dance, we went as friends, then we kissed. I was 14. God I hadn’t thought about that stupid dance in ages.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t… I was just wondering, because you seem… I don’t know, like you’re looking for something.”

“You think I’m looking for Finn?”

“I didn’t think so, to be honest. But then B–, well, someone said that, you know, you haven’t been in a serious relationship ever since… all of that… I didn’t wanna bring this up because, well, for all the obvious reasons, but–”

“You didn’t know, Clarke. Finn was a piece of shit.”

“You still talk to him, though.” Raven stared at her, mouth agape. “I’m sorry! I’ve heard phone calls, I know you e-mail him. I’m not judging!”

“Yeah, I talk to him sometimes.” She covered her face with her hand. “Like I said, I miss the idea of Finn. For all of those years, for all of the time we were dating, I was dating this idea of Finn, the good boy next door. I don’t know when he realized that he just didn’t love me that way. I wish he’d said something. It would have hurt, you know, but it would… It’s hard to let go of people. It’s hard to imagine him not being there anymore, not knowing how he’s doing. You can really lose people in this world, suddenly they’re gone and your lives have nothing to do with each other anymore, and for all you know they, I don’t know, changed their names, joined Witness Protection, got a really bad haircut… I need to know where he is, that’s all. Does that make sense?”

“It does. It really does.”

“But if you’re asking if I miss Finn romantically… nah. I’ve been over that since… before I realized I was over that. I remember having sex after we were over, and it was just… wow, so this is how sex is supposed to feel? Not to diss Finn, but…”

“I think you’re allowed to diss Finn.”

“...yeah, I don’t think we ever really worked, in that department. We were moved by this middle school idea of romance, it’s so pathetic. I don’t miss him that way. I’m glad I got to discover everything else. Well. Not everything else.” She fell silent.

“Well? Don’t stop sharing halfway through. We’re bonding. Two young adult women bonding. Don’t ruin it.”

“Look, this will sound terrible, but, when you were with Lexa, I–, no you don’t get to make that face because I said the L word, you encouraged bonding and look at everything I just said!”

Clarke motioned for her to go on.

“Thank you! Anyway, when you guys were together, I really… I looked at the way you were each other’s whole world, and I realized I’ve never felt that. It’s funny because Finn was literally my whole world, I lived for that son of a bitch, but then he just… I guess what I’m saying is that, all this time, I haven’t missed Finn, but I’ve just wondered if anyone could ever really love me that way.”

“Lexa didn’t love me, Raven.”

“Yeah. Maybe she didn’t, maybe she did. I know this is not a fair comparison, I know! Don’t worry. But yeah, that’s what I’ve been wondering. I came on this trip and I thought I could find a big European romance, someone I’d cry about leaving. Maybe a Before Sunrise situation, but less white? And I’ve realized that’s not going to happen.”

“I’m sorry.”

“About what? Besides, I don’t really want that to happen. I don’t want to be a cliché, but I know what I want. I want to work, and kick ass, and I want a guy who knows what he has found when he finds me, and I want to not have to compromise for him. I don’t want to stay with someone who makes me cry. I know everything I deserve, and well, I can have fun until I find it. Preferably near me. In the same state. No impossible romances for me. Anyway, does that answer your question?”

“Yes, it does. In a great way.”

“I liked talking about this. Thank you for asking. In retribution, I won’t ask you anything.”

“You know me so well.”

“Not as well as other people, I know, but I’m okay with being your spare, as long as it’s not forever.”

Clarke lied down. The wine was definitely working. She remembered that fleeting thought of grad school earlier, at the beach, and smiled to herself.

“What’s with the smile?”

“Nothing. And you’re not my spare. I wouldn’t trade this for anything else with anyone else.”

“I’ll do my best to believe it, but I’m skeptic. See, this is my skeptic look.”

“Good night, Raven.”

“Fine. Good night, Clarke.”

Raven turned off the lamp beside her bed. Clarke’s was already off, their faces already washed. Just before Clarke drifted off, she heard Raven say something else.

“What was that?”

“I was just saying that I’m not worried. Bellamy is probably going to explode if he spends just a few more days without talking to you. You should see the state you leave him in.”

VII

After more voicemails than she could remember getting from Abby in a couple of years, Clarke braced herself to answer the calls. Talking to her mother always took a lot of emotional training. The conversation started with all the niceties that always sounded merely obligatory. Yes, school was busy. Yes, her girlfriend was fine. Maybe Clarke would take her to dinner one of these days, yes, but again, they were both so busy with senior year, not to mention grad school prospects. Yes, Lexa was applying to Law School. Of course, Abby took this as a segue to go into her own ideas for Clarke’s post college career. In her mom’s words, since she had decided, against everyone’s arguments, to go for her PoliSci major, then it was beyond time to actually start working on it. “It what,” Clarke asked. The “it” was politics, of course. Jaha would be taking an intern at his office. Clarke didn’t want to ask whether that was his own idea of if Abby had suggested it herself, but there it was, being presented to her as an opportunity. It was unpaid, of course, but she’d get to work in a Senator’s office, meet other young people going into the same field, not to mention a lot of politicians. Jaha met with the president often, her mom said. She left the contacts for Jaha’s office, but said they also had Clarke’s number and email, and she should expect they to get in touch.

Clarke got off the phone feeling like she’d gotten the job already. And yes, it was a great opportunity, one many of her school mates would kill for, delivered to her on a silver platter with a special personalized card with her name carefully handwritten on it. But there was always a catch. The more obvious one was that she didn’t want, under any circumstances, to put herself in the position of owing Abby anything, not when she’d finally managed to feel some independence, not when graduation was on the horizon and she could finally go free. And that was the other catch: as she went through grad school options, Lexa herself completely set on Law School and her three school choices, Clarke had just started realizing that tying herself to that meant tying herself to her mom for longer. And what if she didn’t really want to go into Politics? What if, after being set on one thing or the other for almost 22 years, she now didn’t really know what she wanted anymore?

She still didn’t feel like she could simply turn down an opportunity like that, though. Somehow the idea of talking to Lexa about her fears and doubts made her feel weak. Doubts were for lessers or something, Lexa would say. Her confidence was attractive, but not extremely comforting.

They’d talked over Chinese food and wine, since Lexa didn't drink beer. “So, what do you think I should do?” Lexa stayed silent, as if considering her words. Well, that was worrying.

“I know all about your issues with your mother, Clarke, and I understand, you know I do, but don’t you think senior year of college is time to put your future ahead of that? What is more important, keeping a high ground in your relationship with Abby or guaranteeing the best life for yourself? I don’t know, to me the choice is pretty clear.”

Besides, everything was about connections, she continued. Without them she’d get nowhere in Washington. Whatever Clarke went on to do, that internship would put her ahead of the competition. Sure, she would owe her mother, for a time, but then she’d be free of that for good. Abby wasn’t in politics. Jaha could guide her, then she could get her own mentor, someone Abby wouldn’t even know. What it really came down to, rationally, was that it was ludicrous to expect to get anywhere without connections, and for as personal and important as this was to Clarke, throwing away those she already had was counter-productive.

“It’s only gonna hurt you. It doesn’t mean you have to love her, Clarke, but this is a huge advantage and something she wants you to have, she’s practically handing it to you. I understand wanting to get it for yourself. We both fight for things. But also, it’s not like you don’t deserve this. You’re great, and talented, and smart, not some idiot getting by on her family name. Come on, don’t look sad. You’re not going to love most of the colleagues and allies you’ll have to make, right? Why can’t this be practice?” She took Clarke’s hands and held them, kissing her knuckles.

“I don’t know. Those will be strangers. I can’t think of my mother as just… an ally. I don’t know if I can do that.” Clarke rested her head on Lexa’s lap. “You know I’m not the badass lone wolf you are.”

“First of all, I’m not a lone wolf, I have my one woman pack, thank you very much. Second of all, Clarke. All of this resentment is just hurting you, not the people who hurt you. My parents disowned me, but I don’t go through life raging against them. I let them go. I don’t waste all that energy on them, I don’t waste anything on them. Focus that on the future, on everything you can get, on everything you can change. Otherwise you’re just defined by them. You’re just a series a heartbreaks, and no you remains. It’s like I keep telling you, I think it’s okay to accept this because you know your true heart and I know your true heart and we don’t need them, because we have each other, right?”

“Yeah. We do.”

She called Bellamy. They met for coffee and donuts. It’d been a while since they’d hung out alone. He looked tired. Octavia had just started seeing an older guy, older than him, and Bellamy had no idea how they’d met. He’d made the mistake of trying to forbid it, which of course, only made her go harder with the whole thing. “She changed her Facebook status to ‘In a relationship’. Very aggressive. But he’s not on Facebook, so she posts pictures of them several times a day with these quotes about nothing getting in the way of love or something. I don’t know how the both of us can be related, she is so dramatic?” Clarke had laughed. “Hey, I’m not dramatic! Okay, fine, spill it. What has got you so worried? Trouble in U-haul paradise?”

“Haha, very funny.” But she explained the entire situation, and Lexa’s point of view, and how she was just trying to get over herself and take the opportunity for what it was. Bellamy completely disagreed with that course of action, though. Accepting this was a “slippery slope” as far as family goes, and it’d lead to other favors, bigger favors, and besides, Clarke could do anything she wanted without her mother’s help.

“Can I? Really?”

“Why not? You have so far. I do it. Come on, are you telling me you can’t get into Law School without Abby Griffin-Kane’s help? Don’t embarrass me, Princess.”

“See, I don’t even know if I want to go to Law School. This is so confusing. A lot more confusing than I thought it would be. I don’t actually know what I wanna do with my life? There are so many possibilities.”

“That’s classic senior year confusion. You get overwhelmed because you realize you can do anything you want. But you’re you, Clarke. You always know what you want.”

“Hm, do I? So what do I want. Tell me.”

“I see you as a prosecutor. I see you as the Judge. I see an old and wrinkly Clarke on the Supreme Court. I also see you on the White House. Just kidding, I don’t. Being president is too much about compromise and accepting you’re powerless. It wouldn’t suit you. Academia. You’d love the in-fighting.”

“Ah, yes. I would.”

“I hear lawyers fight a lot. You could also draw. Courthouse sketch artist, maybe? Best of both worlds?”

“My mom would just love that! Can you imagine? Lexa running for Congress and me drawing sketches of accused murderers.”

“So you’re gonna be the sullen Congresswoman’s wife?” Bellamy looked down at his coffee cup, like he was trying to read tea leaves at the bottom, his question with a very purposefully casual intonation.

“Wife? Wow. I… I don’t know.” She looked at him in silence for just a few beats, his hair a little too long, falling over and covering her vision of his eyes when he was like this, head bent down. “I guess I don’t see us ending, right now. But I don’t know.”

“Yeah. One part of the future at a time, right? I mean, if you can’t think of a reason why it’d end, that’s good. Do you want another coffee? I’m gonna get one.”

“I’d like one, yes.”

He got up. Clarke smiled. Later that day she called Jaha’s office to turn down the internship.

It was a surprise to find out a few weeks later that Abby had contacted Lexa with another offer.

It wasn’t the same job. Turns out Abby had been using her contacts to look for a lot of opportunities for Clarke, so after her refusal, she had decided to get in touch with Lexa. Maybe she could convince her to see reason? Lexa had tried. She wasn’t siding with Clarke’s mom, she insisted, but thinking about Clarke’s future, and more importantly, the future they could have together. She pictured so much for them, and Clarke was letting a quarter-life crisis get in the way of it, which she would regret later.

Meanwhile, Abby had apparently been setting up the pieces for Clarke to get into Law School at GWU. Marcus knew everyone, and like Bellamy had pointed out in freshman year, the Griffins were a legacy at the university. Clarke knew all of that, of course she did, but the last thing she wanted was to get into a Law School on her mother’s influence. It was becoming torture, on top of all the work she had to do, to fight this multiple front battle.

She didn’t feel betrayed by Lexa’s “partnership” with her mother, because she she knew it wasn’t real. Lexa was really looking out for what she saw as Clarke’s best interests, she knew that. What she was starting to realize was the toll this relationship had taken on her. It was dawning on her that she never felt really completely at ease with Lexa, completely light and free of worries, not when they were wearing clothes, at least. In their relationship, she was starting to feel like a disciple. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy competition, challenges, high stakes. They were both overachievers and she loved that. But she also felt exhausted. She wanted her and Lexa to be more late mornings, God, more hikes, even. She wanted to go back to that, to forget these goals, to stop overachieving maybe for one week, but it was relentless now. Was their future going to be two workaholics who barely saw each other, then barely knew each other? Clarke missed fun. Then she felt stupid for missing it, and that was the gist of it: she was tired of feeling guilty for every perceived weakness.

It all come to a head later, when Lexa herself got into GWU Law. Abby’s “deal”, which Raven, when she heard about it, said sounded more like blackmail, had always involved that promise, that the two of them would go and wouldn’t both of them be happy? The scholarship Lexa had gotten completely on her own merits, and then it was settled, she was really doing it, and Clarke really wasn’t, and after the most sullen celebration dinner on recorded history, it had come down to an argument on Northwest Pennsylvania avenue at 10pm.

“You never canceled that trip to Europe with your friends, I know that.”

“I never said I would! I miss my friends. I said you should come!”

“Your friends hate me. I don’t care, but I don’t want to spend this summer, a special summer, with people who hate me. I want to spend it with my girlfriend! I told you we could travel with Anya, there’s so much we can do…”

“We always do YOUR thing. It’s always me changing to fit your life better! I hang out with your people, I go to your places, you never integrate yourself into my life! I mean, unless it’s with my mother.”

“I was trying to help you! I was trying to help us! This is a decisive moment, Clarke. A lot is at stake.”

A lot was always at stake with her, Clarke thought. Then she said it out loud. She said everything out loud. How everyone thinks Lexa is cold and just a heartless bitch, even, but Clarke knew her better, and she loved all those other things she could see, but they were all getting harder and harder to see.

And to Lexa, her success was important, yes, but she considered it their success. It could be their life, together. But Clarke now felt that this life would be her in Lexa’s shadow, always. Clarke changing parts of herself to fit into Lexa’s worldview, ending up with Clarke in Lexa’s world, no part of her outside of it, nothing of her defined by anything but Lexa. Not them against the world, but Lexa against the world, and Clarke a part of Lexa.

They didn’t sleep that night. They didn’t talk either. Maybe real conversations would never be their strongest suit. The following morning Clarke had packed two bags and left a note. She ended it by saying “don’t stay alone.” She knocked on Raven’s door. It was two months before the trip.

 _*_  


 

Clarke was swimming in the calm blue Italian sea. Tomorrow they were leaving the coast, and she had to admit she was going to miss the sea and the boat trips and the diving. The ocean was so clear, the sky was so bright, and she felt so much lighter. She stopped a fair distance from the beach, and just stayed there, floating, eyes closed, no worries in her mind. Then a splash of water hit her face.

“What the hell, Monty.”

“Nope.” It was Bellamy. Clarke opened her eyes to his stupid boyish grin. “Afraid of a little water?”

“You should know better than to scare me in the middle of the ocean. I could drown you.”

“Yeah, I’ve been waiting for my punishment for rightfully beating you at poker.”

They’d learned to play poker all’italiana a couple of days ago, in Portofino. They’d separated the group into duos so everyone could learn better, then the guys had proposed they try it for real, and Clarke, Bellamy and Miller had accepted, while Raven and Monty roasted them from the sidelines, and Katerina cheered for Bellamy. It’d turned out that Clarke was as good at Italian poker as she was at good old 5-card draw, and besides, she knew Bellamy’s poker face quite well. They’d signaled each other to join forces against the Italians, and silent communication it came to them so naturally that at the time Clarke hadn’t even registered it was their first significant interaction since Paris.

In the end only one of them could win, really, so while it was rewarding that the last remaining Italian had folded with the overall best hand, she had lost to Bellamy fair and square, only because in this stupid game a Flush beats a Full House, which still didn’t make any sense to her. “Rules are rules, princess,” he’d said, resting his legs up on the table like he was Han Solo. Now go on, I think I want another glass of wine.” The winner didn’t have to pay the bill. Clarke did register that he’d called her “princess”.

“I’d have beat you if it were regular poker.”

“If we’d been playing American the entire game would have been different, so you can't say what would have happened. Shaking my head at your logic, princess.”

Clarke huffed in discontent, and circled around in the water a bit, swimming backwards. She smiled at him.

“What? What’s with the smile?”

“What? A girl can’t smile?”

“Not that smile.”

“It’s an innocent smile, Bellamy. Just enjoying the ocean. I’m in the Mediterranean, why wouldn’t I smile?”

“Right.” He stared at her suspiciously for a little while but then they both just kept moving and swimming in small circles. When he was distracted enough, she took the opportunity to push his head underwater.

“Oh, so that’s how we’re playing? I see.” He went to push her too, and she splashed his face with water as a distraction, until he held her from behind and she yelled “okay, okay, I surrender!”

They were both laughing as they swam back to the sand. Clarke beat him there.

The five of them had left Levanto the morning after. Clarke had spent the rest of the day trying to create another opportunity for her and Bellamy to be alone, but he’d gone off with Katerina somewhere at night. She wasn’t there when they got on the bus, though. According to Miller, she’d decided to stay behind, her plan had always been to follow the coast all the way through Greece.

“Oh, are they going to meet later on?”

“Why would they? Our summer is pretty much over.”

Florence was more fun than Clarke remembered having in a long time. The five of them spent the entire time together, no matter where they went. Bellamy got into full professor mode, and the look in his eyes as he got to see everything made Clarke happy for him. Museums, sculptures, gardens (with sculptures), David, churches, the Medici chapels. “I think he’s gonna have a heart attack when we do get to Rome,” Nathan commented more than once.

“Shut up, Miller,” Bellamy replied. But he smiled.

It was early evening, all of them in an open café at the Republic Square, the sun still up. They were joking around, drinking, eating, talking about the trip so far. Clarke was right in the middle of the conversation. She didn’t know exactly why, maybe time does heal all wounds, but she’d been thinking less about Lexa. Maybe it was that the images of flowing curls and toothy smiles had been replaced with a memory of impenetrable hardness. All the bad had suddenly become clearer, in her head. She knew why she’d left, and she’d never know if it had been the right choice, long term, but it had been the right choice at that moment.

Besides, there was the smile in Bellamy’s eyes. She remembered that little moment in the ocean, but here in Florence they were interacting fine with everyone else. She kept remembering that she could talk to him whenever she wanted. That’s what he’d said, and Bellamy had never been anything less than reliable to her. She just wasn’t sure what to talk about.

“Hey, Clarke, let’s get a smoke.”

“A smoke, Monty? You’re not gonna do that here, right?”

“Just come with me.”

She shrugged and made a face at Raven, who just smiled mysteriously in return. Monty had taken some steps beyond the café, toward the center of the piazza. She joined him and stood by his side.

“It’s really beautiful here. So old, too. You think buildings back home are old, but wow. This is some perspective.”

“True. The architecture is pretty amazing. I wish I was better at drawing that. But uh, you didn’t ask me here to talk about Florence, because we were all doing that back at the table. You also didn’t ask me out here to smoke, because you know I hate the smell of whatever it is you would be smoking, so… what is it?”

“We, the rest of us, were just wondering when you’re just going to make up with Bellamy? We don’t really know what kind of fight you guys had, and it was fun for a while trying to guess how long it’d take, but we only have one more stop before we have to go back, so, you know… hurrying it up would be for the best. Just a friendly opinion, from a friend. It's time.”

“If you don’t know what happened, then why am I the one chosen to go fix it? How do you know Bellamy isn’t the one who needs to fix it?” She was looking down, kicking some pebbles with her shoes.

“Yeah, well. I just used a little bit of logic. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“Clarke, you’re one of my best friends. Maybe my best friend. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Monty.”

“I know. But you see… there are other people you love, and those people may not know it.”

“You mean Bellamy? Bellamy knows I care about him.”

“Think about one thing: you switched “love” to “care” just there.” When she didn’t answer, he continued: “If you wait long enough, if you just let things go as they are going, I’m sure soon enough things will be back the way they were between the two of you. They always settle back the way they were. I just think that, I’m sure you know he kind of deserves better. I’m not saying you have to grovel or humiliate yourself, it’s just sometimes people gotta know you’re not taking them for granted.”

“I don’t take Bellamy for granted.”

“Then just say that. Or don’t say that, but… find a way to show that. I don’t know. He’s been a great friend to you, and you’ve been a great friend to him. You don’t have to feel the same way he does, but you can let him know you still care.”

Clarke paused, looking up from the small rocks to Monty’s face.

“The same way he does?”

“Clarke. You know what I mean. You don’t know you know but you know. Well… you know.”

Clarke looked from Monty to the distant café table, where Bellamy was laughing with Nathan and Raven. Miller was wearing his beanie again. Raven had her hair up in a bun instead of her usual ponytail. Bellamy’s eyes wrinkled in the corners as he laughed, truly laughed. She looked back at Monty, who gave her a small shrug and walked back.

Just a couple of hours later they were walking back to the hostel. Raven had decided to go out dancing. Monty, who looked about ready to fall asleep, suddenly decided Miller and him should go, too. “I see,” Clarke’s eyes told him, but he only smiled and the three of them left Bellamy and Clarke to make the way back alone. They were in silence for the first few minutes.

“Do we still have wine hidden somewhere? I want more wine.” Clarke said.

“We’re gonna go back to D.C. liking wine way too much.”

“It’ll be a hard habit to break.” Clarke turned her head to look at him, noticing that faded crescent-shaped scar on his cheekbone from a fight years ago, before they’d met.

“Staring again?” He turned to look at her.

“I heard you’re not seeing Katerina again, not this summer at least. Are you gonna be pen pals? Long distance?”

“I don’t think so.” He shook his head. “Did you know that she called me Bell?”

“Bell, like Octavia does?”

“Yeah, and only Octavia. It was weird. Felt weird to bring it up, though. She was cool. It was cool. Doesn’t really need to be more.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“You do? Yeah, you have an extensive history of just for fun relationships.” There was no bite to his words. Clarke laughed.

“Well. I just deeply understand the human experience.” They both laughed then.

“You know, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I know, not shocking. But I’ve just been reviewing everything. You asked me what I’d have done differently, and I know one thing. I wouldn’t have abandoned you guys the way I did. I just felt like a relationship had to be like that, and I treated my friends like collateral damage, and you’re not that. Especially you.”

They’d arrived at the hostel now, and stopped at the street, just outside.

“Especially me?”

“I know our whole… thing… is based on wanting to beat each other or whatever. I mean, not based on that but…”

“It’s one of the many fun aspects.”

“Yeah. Fun. But you’re… you’re important to me. You said you’ve been missing me for a while, and I miss you, too. I’ve missed you a lot. For what it’s worth.”

Bellamy smiled.

“It’s worth a lot.”

He walked her up to her door, since the boys were at a different room. They stood outside, awkwardly, but a different kind of awkward. Like something had shifted. Clarke couldn’t resist hugging him. He was warm and… comfortable. He made her feel safe, like always. After a long while, the hug broke, but he didn’t completely let her go, so their faces ended up inches from each other, and their eyes met for a heavy moment. Clarke bit her lip. The moment felt impossibly long, but then Bellamy let her go and said good night.

“Don’t you want the wine? We could have some here?”

“We’ve walked way too long and you forget all the long years I have on you. I… really need to rest.”

“Okay, old man. See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

She unlocked her door, and before she closed it from inside he called her name again.

“Yeah?”

“Sweet dreams, princess.”

“You too, general.”

Last stop: Rome. They just had 3 more days and that’d be it. Vacation over, back to America it was, to deal with jobs, grad school, debt. Clarke had been thinking that maybe taking a break for a year could be good. She could study something else, give herself time to decide what she wanted to do in grad school. Law School was still on the list. There were many things she could do with a law degree. She could learn to deliver a closing argument that would make Bellamy seethe. She could go into academia after all. He had been right. She knew what she was good at. And she was young, and time was on her side, and she could do this without her mother. She had the money her father had left her, which she’d gotten the previous year. It had felt weird to go into those funds before, but she remembered him, and she knows what he would have wanted for her. All the best. Happiness. Few of the important people in her life had wanted just those things for her, selflessly. It was time to start valuing those who did.

They got to the hotel where they would be staying. It was the last stop, so they’d decided to stay somewhere a bit nicer. Not a five star, far from it, but just a bit nicer. More comfortable beds. Find-a-room websites existed for this, after all. Like all the other accommodations, this one had been booked before they’d left, and Clarke had left all the addresses with her mother, who was, after all, her emergency contact. As they checked in, the man at the reception desk announced that there was a letter for her.

“A letter? That’s dramatic.” said Raven.

“Yeah, leave it to my mom. Her communication method has always been letters, when I was a teenager living with her she still used to tell me important things or continue important arguments through notes she pushed under my door.” Clarke shook her head as they walked to the elevator, till she noticed the sender wasn’t Abby after all.

“Oh.” Monty sounded worried.

“Yeah.” Clarke barely heard herself replying. Lexa had written her a letter? To her Rome hotel? It was shocking how not at all surprising that was. Of course she had. Why wouldn’t she. She was so distracted by the envelope that Raven had to push her out of the elevator when they got to their floor, and she didn’t notice the way Bellamy had turned serious again when he went into his room.

“What does it say?” Raven asked, as she left that shower. “By the way, if you need relaxing, that is one amazing shower. I missed actual showers, that strong hit of water on your back, thank God.”

Clarke was too distracted to answer, staring at the still sealed envelope. “I haven’t opened it yet,” she said.

“Why not? Delaying it is only gonna make things worse. Besides, I’m starving. Let’s go out to lunch.”

“I think I’m just gonna stay here for a while. I’ll grab a bite later.”

“Clarke. Come on. You were doing better.”

“I am. I swear I am. I’ll just shower and decide what to do about this. I’ll see you guys tonight, I promise!”

Raven looked doubtful, but went back into the bathroom to get dressed, while Clarke still stared at the envelope, and Lexa’s handwriting, mind a blank.

She ended up not meeting them that night. When Raven got home reasonably late, she pretended to be asleep. She wasn’t sure Raven bought it, but she still went to bed and fell asleep herself, so Clarke slid off to the bathroom, where she kept staring at the letter. She carried her sketch journal with her. She hadn’t opened it. At first she thought it was because she was too nervous, too afraid of the contents. She had gone through her sketchbook in search of distraction, and ended up finding a note from Bellamy. He'd written it next to that drawing of the pub back in London. It was from one of favorite poems of his, a Romantic one, of course, because of course Bellamy Blake loved the Romantics.

“ _This living hand, now warm and capable_ ”

She knew it was a verse from Keats. She remembered the rest of it, vaguely, surprisingly. _– see here it is –/I hold it toward you._ It got to her. As she thought, all day and now, more and more she realized that she didn’t really want to know what the letter said. She didn’t really care. After going through endless possibilities of what Lexa could probably have written, she’d realized that none of them would make a real difference.

There’s a kind of love you only find once, if you’re lucky. Some people go through life looking for it, that all-encompassing love that consumes you. It’s you two, and everything else matters less. You’re lucky to find it just once because after experiencing that, you don’t want to find it again. That person would be the love of you life, if your life was a gothic romance, maybe, but beautiful literature was really just a pile of ruined lives, and yours wasn’t written by a Brontë, thank God. Life is about many loves. Some overwhelm, others protect and harbor. Clarke had spent all this time lost at sea, in the middle of a perfect storm, and even though permanently scarred, she’d survived. She had an anchor, didn’t she? She knew it was true, her fears were true, and she’d never again find anyone who made her feel what Lexa made her feel. But she realized something new, after too much staring at his hair falling over his forehead, his dimple, and that was that she’d never find anyone who would make her feel the way Bellamy made her feel, either. Raven had loved the idea of Finn. Clarke had loved the idea of being loved by someone who loved nobody.

She would have gladly drowned in Lexa’s love, months before. Now she thought she maybe didn’t need to. Maybe Bellamy and her could anchor each other instead. They’d argue to make each other smile. They’d be trivia game rivals, poker rivals, academic rivals, hell, jogging rivals. He’d help her study. He’d stop her getting into bar fights over pool games. And as she imagined that, Clarke felt at peace.

After falling asleep nearly at dawn, she woke up at lunch time. Raven had left her a note about their whereabouts for the day. After getting ready in a hurry, she met them outside the Sistine Chapel.

“Clarke! You missed it! We were just inside. You would have loved it. Especially because we found it sort of underwhelming, to be honest.”

“You guys are heathens,” she shook her head at Monty. “Wait, where’s Bellamy?”

The three of them exchanged a quick look before Miller answered.

“Yeah, Bellamy was kind of moody and wanted to be off on his own. We don’t really know where he is.” It was clear from his look that Nathan blamed Clarke for said “moodiness”. Which fine, this wasn’t her biggest concern, right now. Not even her smallest concern.

“No idea where he is? Where if he gets lost here, then how are we supposed to know?”

“Calm down, he has the hotel number, he can call them, and besides, his terrible Italian has to be good for something.”

“I don’t know, okay. I just need to find him, Raven. Where did you guys go yesterday?”

“Catacombs, crypts, cemeteries, dead people, basically. There was a pyramid.” said Monty.

“You didn’t go to the Colosseum?”

“Nope, not yesterday.”

“Oh, okay, thank God. I, just gotta go right now. I’ll see you guys later,” she said, already rushing away, but in time to hear Monty mutter something about “those crazy kids”.

Clarke felt ridiculous over her own hurry. But she also knew everything she had to say was just of the utmost urgency, well, emotional urgency. She paid (a fortune, in her opinion) to get in. She didn’t really have time to admire the place at the moment, wondering if he might be inside any of the exhibitions, wondering if fate would have taken him to the Eros museum because that would just be too much, wondering what the fuck she was doing, because if this was a grand romantic gesture she must have lost her mind, there wasn’t anything in the world she was less meant to offer anyone than a grand romantic gesture.

But then she saw him, looking down from the highest balcony. She wouldn’t run up there, that would be excessive, she thought, so she didn’t, and after climbing up she found that he hadn’t moved.

“Thought you’d be more excited to be here. Unless you’re imagining yourself as a gladiator. In that case, sorry to interrupt.”

“Hey. How did you find me?”

“Instinct. Blake senses. I can’t tell you all my secrets.”

He smiled softly. “It is dangerous when people know you too well.”

“Yes, it is. Any really smart person would keep themselves locked up. Getting close to people. Yuck.”

She approached him on the balcony.

“You okay? You look like you’ve been running.”

“I didn’t run. I was in a hurry, though.”

“Why, what happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Wow. I can see why you were in such a rush. Oh, and by the way, I’m not imagining I'm a regular gladiator. I’m here to save everyone.”

“Is this like your library of Alexandria fantasy?”

“It’s not a fantasy it’s a… Oh, whatever.” He looked at her, intrigued. “But speaking of Alexandria, how was it? The letter, I mean.

“I wouldn’t know. Didn’t read it.” She turned around to face him entirely. He was still turned toward the balcony.

“Clarke, come on. You can’t delay the inevitable.”

“I’m not. I don’t wanna know what the letter says. You know, you were right. I wouldn’t choose to take everything back. Everything I went through with Lexa, it was worth it, the good and the bad, and I don’t hate her. I still don’t hate her, and that’s what I had a problem with, all this time. I loved her, and I want her to be happy, and I worry she can’t. And I still worry, but I think… I think I was more worried that I can’t be happy.”

“Clarke…”

“Wait, let me finish. I don’t really know what I’m saying and I don’t deal well with that, let me see this through.” She laughed, and he did too. “See, I was worried because I’ve just been through something so intense and I thought, well I’ll never feel anything like that again. But I don’t want to. I don’t want to lose myself in someone. I want someone who just… I want to be someone’s partner. I think I want… I want someone who makes me happy, and grounded.”

“Grounded? Where are you gonna find that?” Bellamy asked, looking out at the amphitheater again. “Not much stability around these parts.”

“No, you see, it’s you. You don’t think so, but you are… somehow you’re always there. You’ve always been there for me.”

“You’ve been there for me, too.”

“I want to be there for you more. I try to. But you’re steadfast, you know? I sound like one of your poets, but you’re a touchstone. I’ve taken that for granted. Not on purpose, but I just, I came to expect that you’ll always be there.”

“I want you to. I mean, I will, and I want you to know that.”

“I know. And now I want you to know that I want to be there for you too. I want to be all there for you. I’m ready.”

Bellamy turned to her. In their positions, the sun was hitting him so that one side of his face was impossibly bright, and the other in shadow. He looked beautiful.

“Clarke, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’m a mess. I’m saying I love you. I love you, Bellamy. I was never… You scare me.”

“I scare you? Have you met yourself, you’re terrifying.” They laughed, both of them, and Clarke felt herself tearing up as she went on.

“You scare me because I trust you so much, and I never want to hurt you. And I’m a mess. I’m honestly a robot, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, and–” He interrupted her, wiping her tears with his thumbs, moving his fingers into her hair, framing her face with his hands.

“You’re not a robot, Clarke. You just try very hard to be one.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you, and if this doesn’t work, and if I lose you, I don’t know how–”

“You don’t have to think that far ahead.”

“You know that’s not true. I do have to think that far ahead.”

“Yeah, okay, but you can choose not to. Sometimes. Just for some things. If… if everyone knew how everything ends, then we’d never do anything, right? We don’t know how it ends, and that’s okay. We can deal with whatever. We can survive whatever. And I think you know this already, because I haven't done a great job of being cool about it, but I love you.”

“I’m a mess.”

“You keep saying that. I'm a mess. Do you know how much debt I’m in? Crushing debt, going into a thankless field of work. No one cares about the Roman Empire. I’m a mess who secretly thinks of his younger sister as his daughter because that’s how I’ve had to treat her my entire adult life and I have no idea how that relationship will ever be functional.”

“We are both messes with parental issues.”

“But see, we don’t have to worry about pleasing the in-laws.”

Clarke buried her head in his chest, still laughing. He laughed into her hair, as they held each other closer and closer. She pulled back a little to look into his eyes, and lifted her lips up to his. It was soft, slow, her hand caressing the hair at the back of his neck, his hand in her hair, their noses touching softly, her thumb soft against his check, their mouths just barely opening, tongues barely brushing, because it felt like home, and like there was time.

They broke apart, grinning. She had never seen his eyes look so bright.

“Now I wish I had found you at the Eros museum.”

“Clarke.”

“What? Like you wouldn’t have loved that.”

“Yeah, sure.” He kissed her forehead, lingering. She felt lighter than she ever remembered feeling. “You want this to be really cheesy. Okay.” He stepped way, going around her toward the stairs. “Looks like we still have a little more than just one day, so… let’s rebuild Rome.”

“Oh my God, Bellamy. I take it all back, this was a great mistake.”

“Hey, hey… when in Rome…”

“No. No. I’m jumping off this balcony.”

“Come on, hey. Princess.”

He held out his hand.

She took it.

It was warm.

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to crushsong for reading this first. I'd almost given up on ever posting it.
> 
> I'm microvision on tumblr.


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